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.