TFR Home Page TFR Home PageContents ContentsPrev. Page Prev. PageNext Page Next PageComments Comments

I go back to the pond

Driving the back-roads
of Goshen,
I take the long way--
a weekend waits--
there will be
the gathering
of dear friends,
the once-a-year
of the faithful--
I press
the curves and hills
with the carefree skill
of a Bavarian driver
on holiday--
the imagination
but I am early;
I take in the terrain:
spindly birches,
gray maples,
the late low sun
of early March
running along side
through the trees.
Down the hill
past the marsh
and beaver pond
where just last spring
a painter stood
catching the same
elusive light
on a slow canvas.

At the rise
on the other side,
I realize I
caught somewhere
in the corner
of my eye--
almost missed--
the motion
of what I presume
to be the tireless
beaver tending
to his dam.
I stop,
turn around,
and go back
to the pond,
to sit and
watch alone,
waiting for a sign,
some shift
in the light,
the smooth surface
of the gray water
circling the lodge,
where only mallards
about the edges.

8 Mar 02

TFR Home Page | Submission Guidelines | Frequently Asked Questions | Sign Our Guest Book | Contents | Donations
Workshops | Event Calendar | TFR Background | How to Contact Us | Editors and Authors Only | Privacy Statement

© Copyright 1997, 2024, The Fairfield Review Inc., All Rights Reserved.
Document last modified on: 03/20/2004

(i[r].q=i[r].q||[]).push(arguments)},i[r].l=1*new Date();a=s.createElement(o),

ga('create', 'UA-22493141-2', 'auto');
ga('send', 'pageview');