down at the pond

On this green December day, a warm wind blows a blue hole in the clouds. Down at the pond, the water runs swift and brown, rushing with yesterday’s rain. A blue jay darts across the pond and into the secrecy of the trees, winking as he goes by. A crow is practicing his solo for the Christmas choir, trying to smooth out the squawks. We sit on the dock, listening, watching. The sun spreads a golden tint on the rippling waves. It’s not the usual winter scene. The ground is fragrant with new clover, taking advantage of the warmth to poke smiling leaves out into the open. It’s all a little strange, but I can’t help but smile back.


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