The Beauty of the Pond
The mist swirls, or is it the fog?
Only the wind knows.
Bended light of autumn sun seeking out fluttering leaves as the clouds lift.
To catch the breeze and drift an entangled dance together.
Their edges curled like a makeshift boat floating in the sunlight.
Waters edge is still, reflecting waterfowl
A pair paddles across a mirror like surface.
They call, a loons voice reverberating against the rocks
A voice that sounds like an eery echo, and then all is still once more.
A breath of wind sends a ripple, one and then two,
Until there’s too many to count,
They lap softly talking to the shore.
I stand so early in the morning, watching this scene
Repeating itself, creating a permanent memory, so I can play it
Over and over in my mind of how the pond, the wind, the leaves, and
the fowl etch such beauty in this great kingdom of mine called Alaska.
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