The pond sat to the side of the old homestead. Seems like it was just yesterday that the icy fingers of old man winter had stilled the waters and the life surrounding it. Thinking... wasnt that long ago that a photo of ducks skating upon the ice of that old pond was the morning chuckle and belly laugh. Now looking upon her- the cattails are growing to heights that will hide the aquatic life and other venturous mammals, reptiles and such within their strong reeds. The willow trees next to the waters edge- so delicate, so dreamy as the branches resemble tears that mother earth has shed for water has been lacking in the region during this spat of a fifty year drought. Dusk has settled. The first twinkle of a star begins the symphony of this evenings grand display of scents, sights and sounds. The baritone frog is the first to relay the coming percussions. Night bird calls in the wind instruments. The howls of the coyotes sail across the valley for the strings begin to cross their bows in languid tones of an eve filled with the nights eternal blessings. Wish you were here... KL