130: Pond

130 pond

Bulging frog eyes, lidded, the first drops of summer storm splatting on the lily platforms beside us. Till moments ago, a chorus sang advice and well-meaning platitudes all around. Now few remain, all flippers flapping downwards, into more familiar wetness where the world stays still. Above and between the waters, some are happy to be manhandled by excessive weather, bruised by heaven- sent tumbling globes, battered by dewdrops. We are refreshed and moved, renewed and serenely unsteadied, glad to know our own uncertainty, we laugh and croak in the rain.

Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2015

 

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