a view of the lake

I walked around the lake and picked a sprig of honeysuckle.  I saw twelve snakes, several frogs of various dimensions, tadpoles, minnows, one fish, and three turtles.  

My favorite was the baby turtle swimming out all alone into the middle of the lake, his feet almost too small to move the water.  I wanted him to come back to the edge where I could catch him.  I wanted to give him a name. 

There were generous portions of green slime, but the shiny blue dragonflies perching on its surface redeemed it from its nastiness.  Banded water snakes slithered in and around the slime, and swam in the clear water dragging rippled V’s behind them. 

Frogs sat all around the edges.  Some crouched on the sun-lit bottom while their tailed progeny swam above them.  Some soaked in the slime with their goggle-eyed heads above water.

I wanted to take off my shoes and wade in, to feel the pond scum between my toes and scoop up tadpoles in a net, to put them in a cup full of silty water and gaze at their circular swimmings.  

But I didn’t.  Doing my own laundry dissuades me from splashing that water on a white shirt.  I walked sedately along, sniffing my honeysuckle, feeling the sunshine, and being startled by the leaps and splashes of the startled frogs.  And then I came back to write it all down.  And if writing it down has a point, that point is this: it’s a good world to be alive in, and I am glad to be alive in it.

5 thoughts on “a view of the lake

  1. siberiangrits says:

    I’m glad that you wrote about it to remind me of the niceness of being alive in such a world. 🙂 And I’m glad that you’re mom is glad that you’re alive in it, and part of me pictured the 2 of you together walking around the lake because it seems like something she would do, too, even if she didn’t write about it as well.

  2. Derrick says:

    Tadpoles. I remember when I could get a bucket (poor tadpoles) of those just from a mud puddle in my back yard in Florida. A muddle puddle (albeit mined by our dachshund). In fact, all the mud puddles had them. What happened? Now they’re not even in the ditch (which is far too often dry). Was it urbanization? Is because little kids don’t go outside to catch tadpoles or in any other ways risk their lives any more? Is it just ’cause it doesn’t rain?
    Or is it just ’cause I don’t look, like you look, any more?

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