ANCIENT POND

ancient pond

frog jumps in

ploop!

Sunday in the backyard is all by itself. A slight rhythmic hum, probably from the neighbor's clothes washer, smooths over background noise. There's just a bit of a breeze. A mellow hint of summertime, and the livin' is easy. . .

But it's May.

Twinkie tunes in. She saunters over and arranges herself very neatly on a stepping stone in the lawn, as only cats can do. Her tail sweeps out across the grass.

The youngest hummingbird darts in to taste a lavender rose by the fence, then zooms back over my shoulder, on a beeline for the feeder hanging over our porch.

From out of the blue here comes Mr. Finch for cookie crumbs on the table at my elbow. He sees the small wooden tray I made for him last spring, when his chicks were growing fast. Next he's off to the bird bath, out splashing amongst the flowers.

Truth can be harder to believe than fiction. This idyl was not conjured by my Muse. And suspension of disbelief, the price of fiction, gets turned over carefully in the marketplace, like an apple, before being deemed worthy. There are gut level unwritten rules.

The truth of India's devastation by Fani, an unprecedented cyclone, is now history. Or factor in record breaking floods here, tornadoes, spring snow in the north east, tennis ball size hail in Texas. Past history gets tossed on the compost heap. What's happening is not a variation of weather as usual. More like business as usual.

It begs the question, whose pond is it, anyway?

Now then, even though you can fool some of the people all of the time, it's certainly possible to shock everyone.

pond heats up

frog still there

boiled!



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