The Pond

The wind flutters, leaves twirl like a ballerina.
The rustling shrubs tremble like a rattler.
Grass is an ocean of green,
Waving gently,
Slowly.

My fingers pierce the surface of the water
And I trace them around inside the pond.
I feel the cool liquid against my skin,
Pretending my digits are a man,
Paddling himself in the vast ocean.

The pond trickles with life;
Fish swim about in their territory.
The croak of a frog, sitting on its lily pad.
Birds sing on the stage that is the branch above.
Serenity is the overcoming feeling,
washing over,
beneath the faucet of emotion.

“I am a leaf on the wind.” Says the bird.
“Watch how I soar.”
Wings flap and speed increases
Circling the pond like a vulture
But certainly not with the same intentions.

The frogs are Olympic competitors,
Jumping from pad to pad
Splash, splash, splash..
Who can leap the furthest
Without getting wet?
Nobody keeps score.

And the fish dance,
Swaying around in the water.
Patterns leave streaks in the pond.
They dance in figure eights and twirls,
Impressing its viewers.
Such is the wild.