On The Edge Of The Pond. Notes From The Pasture

 

I stand on the edge of the pond the high water reaching for the tips of my boots as Zinnia floats, golden white. Glowing.

The pond is covered in momentary circles, each one a single raindrop expanding into nothingness.

Above me a strand of geese honk their way.  I look up and hear the creak of their wings. They leave, and take the unsettled part of me with them.

 

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