The Pond

An early autumn morning at the pond has cleared my thoughts. Its weathered palm-sized pebbles mob the shallow water. Fallen leaves have made a blanket close to the water's edge. Their foliage is from a golden-yellow, to like live coals in a fire, to a dull golden-brown color.There is a large moss-layered boulder on the other side of the pond. The sweet smell of the maturing oak has filled my dreams of being of this place. As the rocks tumble, and the water flows, I listen to the robins and meadowlarks sing their song of morning. Thanks God for this place. Thank you for all the life you have put into it.