To look at the lily leaf as a natural habitation is to be amazed at the scale of creation. More
Three years ago, the South Pond, one of the ponds in Lincoln Park (just south of the children’s zoo), was renovated. The pond was emptied. Its bottom and banks were regraded, new boardwalks were built, new plantings put in. The pond had fallen into sluggishness and disuse.
The revitalization has been a great popular success. Its appearance has been changing dramatically from one season to the next, as the new plantings have grown in.
This is what it looked like the other day, as I rode by on the bus. Of the three ponds near my home, this one is the farthest, so I’m not able to visit it easily, though I wish I could.
Tuesday I went to the Lily Pool, which was crowded with people. Their noise startled a heron out of its place by the side of the pond. It flapped up out of the tall grasses, where it had been invisible, and heavily flew up into the crown of the tallest tree. There, from a safe perch, it continued to eye us with considerable alarm.
The city rises over the North Pond. It looks so much more beautiful than it actually is.
It’s an illusion that fuels me, though. It’s a possibility we need.
I knew that yesterday would be a special morning for walking. It had rained the night before and the morning was overcast, reducing the glare yet leaving a slight shine all over. The parks were quiet; air, still. Wonderful conditions for appreciating what I’m sure will prove to be one of my most memorable walks.
The lily pond in Lincoln Park was quite deserted, and edges of the pond were almost messy with dying grasses and fallen leaves. But the surface of the water, with its delicately reflected colors, and the distinctive palette of the colors themselves, was an impressionist’s dream. I took a ‘cool’ picture of the south end of the pond.
On the north end, it was quite a different story, with flaming maples, green rushes, and an entirely different feel.