Return to Tracing Thoughts

The reflecting pond sat still and motionless as it stared deeply into the eyes of the elusive grey sky. Its peaceful strength and serenity enforced by the cohesive sheen of its surface. An impenetrable mirror penetrating the thoughts of all who gazed upon its still surface. But it's compelling presence does in no way effude unwarranted ostentation as it largely goes unnoticed. Very few register the reflecting pond and even fewer ponder its existence. All who pass are reflected in its observant eye. Below the mysterious veneer lies a wealth of compulsive observations. The depth of knowledge beneath the surface are known to know one except maybe the few golden fish who poke their heads above the surface every now and again, shocked by the cold air only to return deep within the protection of the pond. Swimming in the safely in compilations of information gathered, stockpiled and stored forever sealed behind an obstinate mirror.

As the clouded grey sky darkened and wisps of light slipped away, the pond became a black opal, deep and luxurious. As the night aged on it revealed smears of red and blue haze studded by tiny white gems. The clusters of light shone against the shining glow that penetrated the dark night sky. The mysterious night sky never lost its breathtaking aura even as the pond unquestioningly echoed the scene in its surface, encoding and filing every placement, movement and direction down to the nearest atom.

The pond gifted with an ingrained strain of concentration never forgot a thing. It watched as the years went by, as if an active history book dutifully recording passing fancies. The evolution of the horse and buggy to the automobile. From times of propriety, order and structure to an increasingly casual way of existence. It would seem that life is becoming increasingly liberal, but the pond would argue that liberal infuses a subjective attitude into the argument and that the only objective truth to it is that things simply change. Trends and movements are only the afterthought of long and drawn out periods of time, characterized by change and ambiguity.

The pond’s favorite times were when a wanderer might sit and enjoy the serenity of the day, the briskness of the morning, the chirping of birds and the wonder of the sunrise. The quietness of the afternoon or the soft tinkling of the crickets in the fading light. The pond has seen the youth of children, running and playing near the water’s edge, gleeful, wild and spontaneous, hearts throbbing strongly as they ran through the grass. But it had also seen the calm and calculated presence of the elderly. Creaking as they sat, heads hanging slightly weighed down by the effect of chronic gravity. The aching of their bones was excused by the knowingness and peacefulness of their gaze.

A small greenhouse stood next to the pond and kept it company, often reflected in its mirror. When the sky stayed the same and the days passed in an uneventful manner the greenhouse kept the pond company, glass walls and ceilings shimmering in the reflection of the sun and striking the pond with vibrancy. The pond never ceased to be impressed by the greenhouse’s aura and the stately nature in which it carried itself. In the same manner, the greenhouse admired the serenity and concentration of the pond. They never said a word to one another but they were comforted knowing the permanence of their relationship, it was likely that when one went the other would as well. But destruction was far off in the distance as they both knew they were safe in the rural northeast, under old majestic oaks which both the greenhouse and the pond had seen as meek little saplings. It was comforting knowing nothing would change at least for a while longer.

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