The Pond
October 25, 2006
The water broke in circles, each smaller than the first, chasing each other until they vanished and the surface became still once more. I watched as a new circle formed just a bit further and first a beak, then a small black head pierced the liquid surface of the pond. It turned to one side and then back again only to disappear quickly underneath, leaving a trail of ripples behind.
The bird came out with a splash, its body dripping with water, and flew to a piece of wood that was sticking out from the heart of the pond. It stood there, small and wet and black, beating its wings against the wind. After a while it went into the water again, only to surface a few meters from where it started, dived and came out a few seconds later in another part of the pond.
The day opened around like a small bud in the path of the sun. The wind caressed the tall grass at the edge of the pond, making it bent slowly to the ground in a humble salute. Butterflies scattered, flying, delicate creatures, bearing nature’s art work on their backs in bright shades of orange. The air was unscented and heavy with humidity.
The mighty sun started to climb in the sky and sent his rays to warm the world.
The little bird was swimming rapidly under the water, leaving a trail of mud behind, like a comet flying through the space. It flew again to its resting place and there it stood, wings outstretched in the wind. “Welcome to my kingdom!” it said. “Welcome!”
- September 03, 2006 -
We all have stories to tell. Sometimes we bring them forth and sometimes we keep them buried. Here are my stories. I hope you will enjoy reading them as much as I enjoyed writing them. 
