Pond Yoga

Morning at the pond-Lovely Pond. Cool, damp, dewy. Beagle howling down the road. Penny the donky munching grass behind me. The sounds of the city are far away, a distant roar. Lovely Pond is very still except for an occasional ripple from a catfish coming to the surface to nab a bug. He leaves behind three bubbles swirling inside his ripple. A cedar waxwing trills in the oak tree, a serrated, three-toned whistle that seems to go forward, back and forward again in a zigzag pattern.

The pond is a world within a world. Everything that goes on in the planet goes on here. Birth, life, death,work and play. Fresh sagebrush sprouts from the ground right next to decaying horse apples. I feel alone here, yet not alone. I feel a kinship to the life here. I pick up a horseapple and feel its hard, green, convoluted nodules. Why is it called a horseapple? Never seen a horse go near one. Just holding it in my hand feels good, feels solid. I let it frop to the ground; it makes a heavy thud and rolls slightly away...as if to say "Leave me alone."

A group of starlings fly overhead saying "Oh my, oh my." But are they worried? I think not. Theirs is a short, simple life centered around working for their daily bread-they have no intangible, untouchable goals. Their song fills the air and adds to the pleasnt feeling at the pond.

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