This is in memory of my friend, Vivian Brown. If  I could use a brush and paint a picture for her, I would. I fear the only picutes I can paint are with words. I will never forget her smile nor her love for her beloved home land. Go Rest High on that Mountain, Miss Vivian. I will forever miss you.

THE POND

            Everyone needs a special spot, a place to go for comfort and solitude, a place where the soul is free and the mind is relieved of tension and stress, a safe haven. Everyone needs a confident, someone or something to listen without judgment.

            Sometimes saying nothing at all speaks volumes. Sometimes just allowing freedom to speak is enough. Sometimes, if you listen closely, even though no words are exchanged, voices are heard and answers are found.

            You are my special place.

            The path I walk to get to you was blazed by my father and me when I was very young. It winds through tall grasses, across small clear streams and amongst tiny wetlands alive with tadpoles and salamanders. It’s a journey that takes me up a hill through wild blackberry and raspberry briers. I follow a deer trail around the ridge where giant oak trees share their acorns for critters to eat. I’ve walked to the head of a holler on my family farm. Here, I am welcomed by old mountain peaks and Mother Nature’s art work.

             When my father was a young man he dammed the tiny stream to form a secluded pond. For years you were his sanctuary but no more. His presence is here, I can feel it. His health keeps his physical being isolated from his love, the land, his farm. He brought me here in the spring of my life. He saw the connection. We came here together, my father and me, throughout the seasons of his life. We watched nature’s seasons come and go.

            My roots run deep in these hills and what my father loves, I love.

            I come here to unwind with you, to stay in touch with my inner-self to be reminded of what is important. My soul is called to you by a force I cannot deny. I cannot explain. I follow the call as if it comes from heaven rather than you, a holler filled with water. Perhaps you are my voice from heaven.

            You beckon me in spring when new life is all around. When red and yellow and blue and green fill your home, I come to adore you. Sun rays glisten on your surface and warm the liquid that fills your body. You’re alive. I lie back on the ground and hear the energy of your voice yet you speak soft as butterfly wings. My eyes are closed but my heart is open to enjoy Mother Nature’s chorus. Blue birds and doves and chickadees and all their friends, they sing to you. They come to celebrate earth’s rebirth. Tiny spring peepers have awakened to join the song. You smile and splash about sending waves of joy throughout the forest. 

Redbud and dogwood, sourwood and service berry display their spring attire more beautiful than any design man could ever imagine. They carry the sweet fragrance of your surroundings on a breeze sent across the land.

            You call to me in summer when your world is quiet. Birds flit though the giant oaks and maples, poplars and hickories but their song is hushed. Forest giants show their love for you by stretching their arms to shade your body, to cool it from the sun’s radiant glow. In turn, you allow a fresh trickle to enter parched soil to moisten their roots and quench their thirst. You’re calm now. I climb a familiar path to my spot on the hill beside you. I look deep into the waters you hold captive. There I see life. Critters dart back and forth playing in the warm summer pool grasping for food with each flip and turn. You’re generous with your bounty. You share freely with those who live within and about you. Possums, coyotes, rabbits, deer, and all that is wild visit you, they depend on your kindness. I do too. You destroy tension and soothe a troubled soul. I’ve come to expect it. I sit closer and dangle my feet in your refreshing coolness

            I’m drawn to you in autumn when change is all around. A still quietness invades your holler. The forest is ablaze with vivid red, brilliant yellow and fiery orange. The breeze feels different. It isn't bringing life, its taking it away. Leaves that gave you much needed shade now float softly to the ground. Some fall gently against your surface but you don’t mind, you just hold them close. I sit beside you in my special place. You’re peaceful but never do you refuse to comfort me. Your door is always open. Your voice is quieter now, almost a whisper, there’s a change about.

            Its winter and I’m here. There’s no movement. Deer tracks say there’s still life that comes to visit you, to drink your liquid of life.  A cool sun creeps over the mountain top at this late morning hour. Golden rays glow through bare frost coated tree limbs that glisten like silver. I listen but hear not a sound. White crystals from last week’s snow remain on your ice trimmed edges. Your beauty has not faded and you still listen to my tales of life. I will go now for winter’s days are short and cold but know I will return in the spring when Mother Nature awakes you from your slumber.