By Mary Overly Davis

There’s a comma on my pond. It’s an elegant comma, a swath of steel grey water that does more than delineate the separation of pond and bank. It’s a pause separating the seasons. At the whim of the underground springs, this water is the last of the pond to freeze in the late Fall and the first to thaw in the early Spring. It’s the indicator not only of an impending Winter, but of the promise of Summer, and Canada geese, and hundreds of peepers croaking forth from thawed underbrush where their singing talents lay languishing.

This comma also separates night and day with its ephemeral shape.  Appropriately snuggled against the northeast curvature of the pond’s bank, it is part cold north wind and part warmth of the morning’s sun. Like a sleepy eyelid it surrenders to the frigid nights, disappears into white ice only to slip back ajar as dawn spreads her lovely rose colored arms out over the pond.

It’s a magical comma. This water mirrors the sensuous labial folds of the mysterious mountains into which it is ensconced. Changing color at the whim of the gods, this comma is lavender in a morning fog, pink in a clear sunset, and silvery glitter under a bright sun. This corner of my pond mirrors the bough of a great oak tree, stooping low like a reassuring arm to caress the hallowed ground of this little piece of earth where the salutary daffodils, the timid crocus, and the stalwart ferns will soon grace us with their presence.

This beautiful comma will gradually spread its slender elegant tail around the circumference of the pond until it is finally transformed into a cold clear amorphous shape that will carry white fluffy clouds across its surface. And on those clouds will be a circular inflatable raft that will carry me out into dreamland.~