|Posted on Monday, May 08, 2006 - 05:58 pm: ||
What a lovely sense of nature all penned to perfection. I admire your work of art as I am a lover of nature also. Kudos to you! An excellent pen my friend. You have a keen eye.
Jeremy Francis Dollemont
|Posted on Tuesday, April 11, 2006 - 07:20 am: ||
I sat in a pond.
A pond quite still, but yet stirring.
I was listening for tadpoles, but they were silent.
They swam to and fro around my belly button, they glimmered under the sheath of sunlit water. Playfully and naturally they moved, but not one sound.
For it is said that tadpoles do not speak.
The leaves brustled in the wind, the frogs croaked in unison, and the birds whistled tunefully into the sky above.
But there was not one sound to be peeped from my slippery tailed friends.
I wished to speak to them, I wanted to know about everything.
I wanted to know about their pain, and joy, the dreams that lingered in their tiny hearts.
What would be the first thing they would do when they finally emerged into froghood?
So I listened.
I felt hours into hours, and soon the edge of darkness faded over my shoulders.
But I did not budge.
I continued to sit, waist deep in hopes and dreams.
Songbirds sang the last notes of the day, I asked them to stay, I needed help.
"I must find a way to listen to the tadpoles, but they are so quiet,"
I wondered aloud.
Creepers and the mists began to enchant my watery throne.
Waist deep in green I sat,
the color of sorrow. The color that began to prune my hands.
The tadpoles still no sound.
"speak" I say, "whatever is it that makes you wish to chat it all about, just tell me."
I paused for effect, then bellowed again into the darkness,
"we can talk about what it's like to be a frog or how you will catch flies with your stickly tongues, let's talk about your wonderfull future!"
No croaking though.
The moon began rising overhead and the water was begging to be lifted up to the heavens.
Lilly pads brushed my arms, goose chills ran into my skull to tips of tossed hair.
My sorow was churning into fear.
Unfamiliar creeks and cracks invaded my palace, branches bent from all sides. They were frowning, disapproving my efforts.
"I just want to hear one word from these tadpoles."
I mumbled fearfully.
Staring deeper into the murk, I watched them.
So carefully they were still swimming circles around me.
"It's now or never" I said, "I have given my whole day for you."
Listening hard and close I stared deep into the dark liquid.
And that's when I saw it.
From the ripples emerged the silvery image of a nose, then a mouth, and eyes,
and then a face!
A face, none other than mine.
My heart, now weary from the efforts of the day, began splitting. Not in such a bad way, but rather beautifully it tore itself into tiny peices of simple surrender.
I began to cry.
Leaning onto the reflected intruder,
I carefully lowered my face down so near to the wet surface, just grazing the shining water.
I paused, for effect, and then kissed his lips.
That's when I heard them sing.