When it hasn’t rained and the water is low, a white culvert pipe is visible jutting out from the earthen pond wall. Sometimes evaporation draws the veil back further, revealing errant plastic bags or trash discarded by humans into what is otherwise a patch of enchantment.
We are blind to it most of the time when there’s enough water to change the visual landscape. With some rain, we just see the pond face gleaming — her soul sending glints of glittering light into the break of day. Facets. Reflections of the trees and brush appear like a painting, a mottled mirrored version of the naked eye’s sharper image. Ducks and little birds dazzle with their airborne approach. Their flight, seemingly effortless. They land with elegance and seem giddy here, as though they’ve lost all track of time. Or is that us?
Even though it’s a suburban pond, to us it’s a magical nature colony. The dark, sometimes black water is surrounded by shaggy brush, yellow-green grass and fringed by straw-colored reeds. The flora is quiet and steady, springing to life with feathery youth playing on nature’s jungle gym.
Morning dew clings to blades of grass as we march up the small hillside to see if we can glimpse our friends — feathered and otherwise — from higher ground. I feel the cool dampness through my woven shoes as the blades shed their beads. Once we gain the tiniest bit of elevation, that’s when we gasp, point or whisper. “There!” That’s when this daily gift is fully revealed.
On this day, when I haven't packed my phone or camera, there are two adult ducks and seven little ones, one great egret and one regal hawk. Just… splendor. We get lost in their graceful movements as we stand in awe, delighting at the smallest details. Then we spot a well-camouflaged heron too, blending into the blotted mix of water and earth. It’s our first time to see him this year. As we observe, a chorus is warming up all around us — countless red winged blackbirds, grackles, mockingbirds, bluejays, robins and cardinals. To the east, a creamsicle sky is melting into sunrise.
The early morning light is reflected in the pond now, along with the tree and leaves that twirl in shades of emerald and vanilla mint. We call this cottonwood “hawk tree” because that’s where we usually see hawk friend. He is not alone here anymore. Just the other day, we saw four hawks — diving, swooping, gliding, perching then even pecking the ground. One by one, they disappeared into denser woods.
The yellow-crowned night heron who we’ve nicknamed Bandit for his eye patch makes a stealthy deliberate march deeper into the pond. He appears light as a feather atop this small patch of wetland. With each high step of his spindly legs, he advances in the direction of the ducks. Will the ducks mind? We wait. The adults don’t move at all and the ducklings are busy showing off their emerging swimming skills. Peaceful coexistence. A turtle head breaks the surface and creates a ripple, then disappears. The ripple remains.
As we stand lost in wonder, a deep inhale is summoned, involuntary. Mother Nature has gently woven her golden threads through our eyes and perception and into our lungs. It’s so rare I can take a deep satisfying breath these days. Alchemy.
Replenished, we say thank you to the universe for her blessings, her treasures. Nature is life. She stirs our imaginations, our breath and our bodies. Our core and limbs and brain awaken, drawn forth by the pull of love found in the nature all around us and within us. From the hawk to the wildflower. Now I remember what I forgot for a moment. We are one.