The Song of the Pond

The other day, I did something I have not done in a very long time, yet something that should be a staple of my soul’s diet. I communed with nature for a bit. As many of my recent posts have indicated, I am struggling with a lot of things at the moment … all which can roughly be pared down to “What is my place in the world is right now?” My sister has been having a similar struggle. Actually it seems many of those I interact with are … something is in the air.

When my sister seeks inspiration, she has a favorite Botanical Garden that she wonders, and she introduced it to me the other day. There was much to see, but one of the first places she took me to was a Gazebo on a pond. There we sat for a moment, simply listening to the sounds of the pond (which I attempted to record – despite a lawn mower in the distance). Then my sister handed me a little notebook and told me to write about what I was hearing. She did the same.


“Whisper whisper whisper” said the refreshing breeze.
The tall grass responded with a rustle.
Old man frog adamantly said “Bleewp” deeply.
His younger students echo it in their chirpier voices.
The chattering crowd of on-looking birds chime in with their thoughts.
“Cheepcheepcheepcheep . . . cheep.”
“Chirp chirp”
“Wit wee”
The Song of the Pond goes on . . .