They call it Blackbird Pond, a name that sparks the imagination until you actually see the place. It’s a bit of a gloomy little puddle, honestly—the sort of water that looks like it might hold onto your boot and never let go.
After wandering for a mile and a half, I came to this pond feeling even more lost than when I started out. It was tiny, lonely, and gloomy. But out here, where the land is always thirsty, any patch of water is a gift.
The welcoming residents of the pond were: a turtle who perched on a log, two Canada geese, and a solitary Black-crowned Night heron which I accidentally startled without noticing it.
Long ago, I read that if you visit the same place consistently, it will inevitably begin to reveal its secrets to you, little by little.
I’ll keep coming back, hoping that one day this dark little mirror will crack open and show me something I never saw coming.
Generally, life is good.
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