Return to page 2

Recollections at a ponds edge.

With the sun already high and the air warm,
I set my easel
at the edge of this small pond I've only this summer discovered,
off a quiet road, a few miles from my home.

My eyes wander along the waters irregular-reed-hemmed border. 
Where long upright stalks topped with combs of vivid purplish-rose
sway in a light dance to the gentle thrust of the softest of breezes. 
Causing all the numerous clusters of tall thin bladed grasses
growing in the shallow warm water to undulate
in a swaying rhythmic motion that echos those taller royal cousins.

The reflections of these myriad cool green spikes and earth-yellow
bearded wild flowers appear in the ponds mirror-like surface,
while close below my gaze,
I see, in the seeming darkened bottom, below the lens-like surface,
glints of sunlight showing yellow-green molt covered stones
and tiny tad-pole swimmers schooling about.

Skittering on the waters surface film,
yet seemingly flying through the skies reflected clouds,
are dozens of tiny grey-black mots raised just above the water
by slender arch-like legs with foot pads
making dish-like indentations in the water.
Skating all about, zigging-zagging so fast,
my eyes can just barely follow their rapid movements.
These little bugs leave me wondering.  Would even the half-submerged,
stealthy, golden tongued frogs
be able to gulp down these sprightly creatures.

Dragonflies thwicking-thwacking by my head and weaving between/6ver/amongst the lacy-white crown topped reeds.
Then, momentarily hovering-stopping, with two inch long pencil-like bodies
and transparent veined drooping wings, seeking what?
Then, to once again zip-off to another momentary perch.

Overhead the drifting pale whitish clouds at times diminish the warm glowing  sunlight, casting rolling shadows in the grasses as
I stand spreading my brilliant hues of blue-yellow-green and earthen tones onto my palette.

Gradually, my awareness opens to more and more of the sounds
of the airs motion rustling the leaves, the rubbing of the tree branches, and
the abrupt splashing sounds
as fish break thru the ponds surface to snatch at insects.

Photos taken south of Bulls Bridge 8/5/04

Later, I see, at the ponds far edge, a large, gangly, white, stilt mounted bird,
a heron, gazing into the water, seeking its evening meal.

With the lengthening of dark shadows across the grasses,
the warm evening sunlight sparkles on the pond, and
my canvas has now become covered with the shapes & blends of my paint. 
Which, I have all day long removed from my palette
and then placed in a semi-coherent fashion upon this canvas,
so as to be suggestive of this serene place.

I pack my gear.
I rest a while, eating the remainder of my lunch,
seeing for a last few moments this idyllic setting. 
And finally, as the twilight deepens,
I soak-up the joy of this, my days experience.

Emile Waite...................  9/10/04.