It’s a misty morning at the marsh pond. The cat tails are still in last year’s winter-brown leaves. The water is a polished stage awaiting performers. There is profound silence while the hidden owners of the pond decide whether to try to overcome their fear of humans. We try to do the same with the fears and uncertainties that are cancerous to our human contentment. We try to let the pond absorb these poisons from us like a poultice.
Soon, the misty performance slowly resumes – peeps, croaks, bird song and chattering, the burbling of water by something small and unseen; a heron, previously unseen, takes a step that parts some cat tails. We’ve come to an inter-species peace. (Brooklin, Maine)