A reflecting pond in a butterfly garden at the end of summer, in a year with enough tension to cut a room in half. We’ve all learned something about ourselves and our tolerance limits. Do I become better for it? Do I become bitter, angry, and withdrawn? Maybe I have to go through the last question before I can get to the first. In this pond of reflection I find a warm comfort on days when there is none. Not because it doesn’t exist, but because I can’t hear it.
The surface of this small pond creates a surface tension for the beauty of decay that rests on it. Looking closely, we see on the other side of the thin veil a mix of dark and light. Life isn’t fair or unfair. Life is just life.
