Beneath the Sky, Reflections
It’s quiet here. The sky is cloudless. A moth flutters on the most subtle of breezes. There’s barely a ripple on the water. If reflections could speak, they would speak of silence, of harmony and of deep introspection. Locked in the aquatic mirror, a world of wonder stands fully exposed to this image of itself. There is no judgment, no criticism no need for redemption, just a picture of what is here and now, a picture sprinkled with lily pads and geese, a peaceful scene at perfect ease...
Bathed in echoes from the surface of the pond, each tree, each reed, each leaf lives a fleeting second life entranced in the liquid glass. The moth settles on a blade of marshgrass. A frog leaps into the air capturing the winged delicacy in her open mouth, swallowing it whole. Ripples of this death dance roll across the pond as the frog splashes back into the water. Silence and the surface of the mirror are shattered but the quiet sky remains. Stillness pauses then begins to heal. Another moth appears.
an old leaf falls into its own reflection... teacups fill with rain