POND(er)

The pond sits placid on the most west edge of the Savannah. Sunlight dances off the shimmering water; through the decaying tree trunks and twigs that that creep up beyond its surface and between the clouds above. The color of the water is a brown murky shade reflecting the mud on the ponds floor. Surrounding this tiny oasis is a fashioned wooden fence which is itself surrounded by overgrowth of plant species all dotted with their own colorful blossoms, snow white and deep brown, and burnt yellow melt together in bushes. Behind the fence lays a tall canapé of trees stretching into a darker deeper shape of forest. On the other side of the lakes path runs a sandy distance around the pond making large lazy turns inevitably around the entire savannah. The murky swamp is home to the animals you would imagine in a magazine about swamps if there was such a thing. A frogs sits on the preverbal bump on a log resting its legs tired from a long day of hopping. I feel his pain. However he seems relaxed as a breeze blows over him and the rest of his swamp castle.