Return to Tracing Thoughts



Revised 12.21.2022


The reflecting pond sat still and motionless as it stared deeply into the eyes of an elusive grey sky, a peaceful strength and serenity enforced by an unforgiving mirror. The impenetrable body reflected the thoughts of all who gazed upon its stillness, but still a presence which largely goes unnoticed. Very few register the depth and even fewer ponder its existence, but all who pass are reflected in its observant eye. Below the veneer lies a collection of observations. The depth of knowledge beneath the surface are known to no one, except maybe the few golden fish daring enough to poke their heads above the surface, relieved by the cold air returning deep within the protection of the pond. Swimming in the memories, compilations and syntheses of data and thought, gathered, stockpiled and stored forever, might be forever, sealed behind a sheen of forgotten insights.


As the clouded grey sky darkened and wisps of light slipped away, the pond turned to black opal, a deep and moving viscous. 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 night 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, and further still.


The pond, gifted with an ingrained strain of concentration, never forgot a thing. It measured as time moved on, tracing evolutions, interruptions, and shifts in thought, wisdom, connection, and its ticking opposite. Trends and movements might only be marks of incongruence between human record and the score kept. Quietly the subtle ripples considered these afterthoughts of drawn periods of time, characterised only in concept by change and ambiguity.


Forgiving times invited a wanderer to sit and enjoy the serenity of the day, the briskness of the morning, the song of birds and the wonder of the sunrise, the quietness of the afternoon or the soft tinkling of the crickets in the fading light. It had seen the promise of children, running and playing near the water’s edge, gleeful, wild and spontaneous, hearts speaking strongly as they ran through grasses. But it had also seen the calm and calculated presence of the elderly. Creaking as they sat, heads hanging slightly weighed down by an affect of ceaseless gravity, though this did not undermine the knowingness and peacefulness of their gaze.


A greenhouse stood next to the pond and kept it company, often reflected in its mirror. When the sky moved and the days passed the greenhouse kept the pond company, glass walls and ceilings reflected back the light, considering a dialogue between the sun and the moon. There was a permanence, changing only in outward appearance, it was likely when one went, the other would as well. It was unclear what was in the distance, but it was hopeful at least, to consider a methodical interest in the navigation of time.


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