The Pond at Mole Cottage

The clouds roll across the hills to my right, drifting down into this low-lying depression lined with indigenous trees and landscaped garden. Coots hoot as they traverse the pond -- a red bishop peeks out at me from the bulrushes. The day cannot decide whether it will be overcast or partly cloudy -- patches of blue valiantly elbow their way through. Ron and I just went for a short walk up the pine-or'shadowed lane. My heart near bursts as we smell the crystal air, hear the birdsong and locusts singing all around. Beautiful cattle walk with us, curious as to who we are yet safely distanced beyond the wire fence. I'd forgotten the innocent softness of a young calf's gaze! Brown liquid eyes! Reminds me so much of my show calves Skeeter and Peanut -- unalike, yet the same. One poor fellow was at the wrong place at the wrong time -- a big plop of poop all over his head! My mother instinct wants to intervene with soap and water. This place has the rare, endangered Natal Blue Swallow -- pretty little things flitting across the pond, nipping insects in flight. A whisper of blue barely discernible as it teases by. An Egyptian goose with 5 goslings skirt the far side of the pond, now lost in the grasses except for the top of mom's head. How my heart craves the rural quietness, the unhurried pace, the noises of creation's own silence blending, calling, filling, emptying -- all in harmony with my spirit and with one another. In such a place I can be healed -- no, reborn!