Day 26 — last morning at the pond

The bullfrogs withhold their dialog with stretched out moments too long to count of silence. The sun is shining but as yet she to holds back her sting of warmth upon my neck and the moon’s chill has already dissappated with the dawn. The lilly’s have eased out on the pond over the past weeks and near their full encircling of the artists’ pier. They litter the lake with their upturned snow white flowered faces in their morning bloom. The faints residue of pollen spent pushes gently cross the black calm pond riding the softest of breezes. The row boats red belly lays unused. SNAKE. no. One of the as yet still dainty turtles breaks the surface near, long is his pause at my presence. He is gone without a murmur or a whisper. As do I, finally, just as she begins to kiss the nap of my neck with her morning warmth.


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