The Pond

The pond in the nettle patch was very low and despondent.
It showed no signs of life, hardly moved a ripple and stagnated sulkily.

It had been so strong and free. Its course then lay before it and everything seemed simple. It was always on the move, flowing with energy, babbling happily along, so fresh and fulfilled.

It never made great claims, even if at times it did run away with itself a little. But then the pond had been quite misled. And shallowly it pondered over its plight with disgust and self-pity, in the early days of spring.

But as the weeks passed, the little pond began to take stock of itself. Its reflections became more profound as it harboured a deeper interest in its new situation. Things became clearer, less gloomy and sluggish.

During the summer months delicate dragonflies and various other insects appeared. Birds flew down to drink, to bathe or catch midges. Tadpoles emerged from their spawn. Life was developing.

The pond was soon fully occupied with all this growing activity. It no longer regretted the past, when it was submerged in its own pursuits. It had glossed over so much then. Now it was enchanted.

By the end of the autumn the pond had grown larger, but not ponderously so. And by the following spring it had already become a modest lake.

In the summer, white, water-lilies bloomed, and soft clouds were perfectly mirrored on the lake's smooth surface.

One glorious day, when there were such majestic clouds, two fine swans flew from them. Elegantly they circled down to the beautiful lake they had chosen for their new home.

From the Rainbow series

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Text and images © Mirino (PW) January, 2011