The Quiet Strangers

Sketches of a Pond

A golden carp, silent, finning through the shallows,

An oval mouth puckered out, white and empty-

With a shifting tail it glides suddenly in a new direction,

Back to ply the murky waters whence it came.

The black snake, making a v'ed pattern as he swims,

Seeks a different shore and new hunting grounds,

To ply his stealth in the ancient trade of bread winning.

Smooth and serpentine, and with a flick of the tongue he dives.

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Sunken logs half buried in sour green muck,

The leaf litter decaying around saturated trunks,

And among and between those long dead trees,

Hang the dark shapes of bass, hungry and ready.

A disturbance on the surface, then a gush,

And the delicate insect beating water that was air,

Disappears into a darker domain.

A bullseye ripple marks its passing.

---

The excited skitter of the water strider,

Skating out and around the old brown dock,

Oblivious to the outlines swimming beneith,

That, in their benevolence, never seem to strike.

Above in a tree, from a watchful perch,

A dark-eyed kingfisher preened and intent, 

Jumps from a branch and hurtles downwards,

At something he thought he saw but was mistaken.

---

The clean light fades in the west,

And the nightbirds call hello and goodbye,

While the plump he-frogs grunt at the moon,

And hope somewhere a female is impressed.

The stars above reflect their faces in the water,

And the wind breaths upon their mirrored image,

Blurring light and liquid in effervescent swirls, 

That dance and twirl to every corner of the pond.

Those waltzing lights then get reprieve,

(From the music only few can hear)

That orchestra is silenced by the dawn,

When all points of light bow to one mighty dancer.

A new face touches the water, 

And all its rivals scatter from the blue.

Above and below, the early bird,

Bids good morning to wind, reed, and growing light.

---

The plunk of a hurled stone,

Too misshapen to be skipped,

Announces an arrival that all creatures hide from.

Two eyes watch them go, then reach for more pebbles.

Down along the bank in water filled holes,

Which dot the trimmed grass near shore,

(The constructions of a fattened muskrat) now caught,

In the jaws of a rusted trap, set with purpose.

---

In the cool shade of an elderberry bush,

A clutch of brown speckled eggs sets, 

Lost beneath the fluff of a mother's wings.

She sits in quiet- waiting, waiting.

And finally, finally, to the water's edge comes caution,

And a nervous twitching creature laps up refreshment,

Then with a graceful bound,

Its thin legs bare it safely away.