POND MAGIC

There is a magical pond.  It sits discreetly and contentedly atop a grassy knoll alongside a winding road on the outskirts of a blink of a village called Nauvoo. It has long been the place my family goeswhen we leave reality for a weeklong exhale.  A respite without distractions like televisions, deadlines, or dependable internet connection.  Each night after dinner, family members begin the migration to the dock. Waving cattails ornament the rim of the water, like a gilded frame on a priceless canvas painted with oils.The frogs are already practicing their low notes as the cricket chorus of thousands commences gathering to achieve a steady thrum.  Some of us pull out fishing lines.  Others read until the sun sinks so low the words become completely indecipherable.  At least one paddles the canoe, oars mutely breaking the surface of the pond…occasionally stirring up the impossibly green pondweed. I take my camera (more recently my phone camera) so I can try to preserve the feeling of serenity we all hold. Honestly, if I could just figure out how to bottle the feeling of a Tioga County sunset, I’d be a millionaire. Twilight shadows stretch their long arms across the hills and the glassy face of the water becomes a magical mirror where evening clouds check their faces with a vanity well-deserved. Hours later when the stragglers arrive and the cricket chorus gathers on their risers with full voice, the magic will return for Act Two.  And we’ll be lying like a row of cigars on old quilts with the dock below. Our eyes and our fingers, tracing the path of satellites and shooting stars.  At least until tenacious mosquitoes drive us indoors.