A summer sun stretches the pond’s shore
as clover repairs its ring-around path
and thousands of fireflies celebrate the Fourth.
Many want access
but poison ivy and vines crowd the banks.
I must prune.
A fall breeze wanders lengthening nights
as pond-side trees go blaze to brown to bare
and sandhill cranes honk in a graying sky.
The water’s unclear
while tiny green duckweeds block the surface.
I must skim.
Winter wreathes a towering pine in white
as frantic woodpeckers gobble suet
and snow depths make walking a trial.
All would ice over
without the pond’s electric heart below.
It must pump.
Spring showers and snow-melt rush in
as buds emerge from lilac and honeysuckle
and returning birds cheer all sides of the pond.
Everything rouses.
Daffodils, lilies, and black-eyed Susans
must revive.
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Chris Clark, 12/22/16
Chris Clark 