Sun-blaze reflects in the pond its own heaven,
gold surrounded with light tints of blue,
sunburst is caught in rippled cross-eddies,
spiraled from three separate cores, a
seeming cacophony of lines intersecting.
Dappling and dimpling the glaze of the pond,
water bugs form the detritus of nature,
rocking and riding the waves of the wind,
surface skaters are randomly sown adrift,
seeming a testament to some quiet design.
Deep and foreboding, a natural frame,
surrounding trees brood over the pond,
failing to vanquish the light that’s within,
centered life is caught in reflected sun.
Mirrored questions posed to dark cortex,
seemingly paradoxical, perhaps a secret koan:
What is the sound of one pond laughing?
Is it possible to stare in its mirror to see,
yet not see,
life’s perfect reflection simultaneously?
Rick Hartwell is a retired middle school (remember the hormonally-challenged?) English teacher living in Moreno Valley, California. He believes in the succinct, that the small becomes large; and, like the Transcendentalists and William Blake, that the instant contains eternity. Given his “druthers,” if he’s not writing, Rick would rather be still tailing plywood in a mill in Oregon. He can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org.