Spring PondIt seems odd that we would have him here,
the harsh, ratcheting call, clear, as he flies out above the pastures, swallows burbling all around—a kingfisher. Fishing with great gusto from the young trees encroaching upon the pond, he has stayed for almost two weeks--chattering as I walk the edges and sit, watching, from the dock.
Over water we had once thought to make ours—
for, perhaps, swimming.
Until now, having given it over, or more honestly, given it back to its own.
The edges fill, each year a bit more, as dry autumns have opened the banks for eager grasses. And warm summers have turned the shallows, rich and green with growth, to a basin, thick with life.
In order to look delicious to this little dabbling duck—
another new visitor to the pond, given back.
It would seem that in this giving,
it is we who have been given much.