On the way to the pond I inhale the hills of Tennessee
And feel the mist of morning light
The softness without shadow…
The music of the frogs
The flow of honeysuckle
The anticipation coming with the bending of the road…

A hawk suddenly soaring and willows whispering the wind along….
And finally there the dew grasses, the first and third butterflies dancing,
The second sipping….
At the water’s edge, my heart dances the sparkle, the sunlit chop….
I cast along the weedy ledge, not yet prepared to catch a fish….