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The Pond



2.19 a.m.

90 degrees


Primal goings-on today.  Two blackbirds crash into a red-tail,

ousting the big bird from the area of their nest, and

“needling” all over the pond, myriad species of damselflies and

dragonflies, tiny but no less spectacular than that chased raptor.

Stan1 stan2 stan3 stan5 stan4


7.34 a.m.

70 degrees


Previous days I’d walk here nearly knee-deep in snow, bent into the cold,

overcoat and hood, thick wool gloves, bitter wind, biting weather,

noting only white on white, brown on brown, no bird song, weak light.

Decided that today I would walk very slowly.  There is nothing to see here but everything.


7.34 a.m.

70 degrees


Privateers this pair of swallows building a nest above a bare bulb in the shed.

Onlooker, I watch them swoop in and up to the bulb, work a bit, wing out to the pond to

nourish themselves and collect muddy twigs, wheel back into the shadowy shed

designing a home where their fledglings will hatch above a world of rusted tools and things forgotten.


NOTE: These extracts are from a one-year-long project called POND -- The poems are acrostics.  Everyday, at different times during the day, John visits with notebook and camera in hand.  jots down some notes, take a picture or two, if a good photo op. presents itself.  Then heads home and writes a four line acrostic using the letters P, O, N, and D.  He cannot use any of the first words more than once and thererfore needs a different P, O, N, or D word every day; John began the book on November 9, 2018 and will complete it on November 9, 2019.