The pond is frozen, or so it seems. It’s hard to tell with a light snow covering. I don’t think I’ll be walking across it just yet. It’s awfully tempting, though, because it can save time. That’s just what the water creatures are hoping for, however, so I’ll behave.
It’s hard to believe that this is the same place where I
photographed the azure dragonfly just a few months ago, where I photographed my
shadow, where I had the first encounter with the fairies. It’s hard to believe that this is the place where I saw the winterberries and learned the origin of green. Now it looks like a completely different
place, and I can’t even find the canoe.
Ah, but it’s quiet and beautiful, isn’t it? It’s true that I sorely miss the hermit
thrush, my favorite bird, but the silence here sings a different song to
me. It also questions me. It says, “If I give you life again, what will
you do with it? Will you squander it
again?”
 |
| The frozen pond. |
