The light fell on the North Pond in a dreamy way, as I strolled by on a beautiful day.
Very still and bright in the afternoon, the pond’s surface was autumn-colored, where it was not blue. Overhanging it were dark shadows and delicate flowers, which it dreamily doubled and amplified.
What was illusory; what was real?
The raking sun, filtering through trees and buildings, created stage effects as it fell patchily on the pond and its natives.
Everywhere were birds, birds and their shadows. The birds were nearly as still and quiet as their mirror. Many were asleep, quieter in the afternoon than in the mornings.
The shore was a picturesque tangle of gnarly trees and late-flowering asters. The water they framed was a wash of pastel color.
The bright pond silhouetted the birds on their perches.
Ripple-making was their only concern that day.
Gently they agitated the water into lavenders and browns.
A skyscraper furnished the material for these beautiful shards.
The birds starred in dreamy vignettes quite willingly, too.
In riotous stands of goldenrod and milkweed, tiny birds fluttered soundlessly, looking for seed. The dusky hues of the plants were no match for the pond’s brilliant palette of corals and limes.
The pond was a-shimmer with startling colors.
Now only my photographs tell me the dream was real.
