The Pond

        The breeze is cool on my face as I walk to the side of the pond.  The croaks of frogs and the cawing of pesky black birds greet me as I meet the water.  The water is not shiny and blue, like the picturesque ponds in storybooks, but covered in dark green lily pads and a thin layer of what I have always assumed to be a type of algae or moss (but have never had the urge to touch and find out).  It is also a tiny pond, and it would be easy to walk around if it weren’t for the densely packed trees and wild, tall grass at the back side of the pond.  Fortunately, only a few people have attempted to walk around the small pond, and only a couple of people have fallen into the not-so-clean water in the process.  A couple hundred feet away from the pond are sugar cubes and corn stalks meant for the family of deer that come at night (mostly) to feast on their snacks.  If one looks closely enough, the tracks of the family of the deer can be detected in the soft mud near the pond, and can be tracked all the way to where the sugar cubes and corn stalks lie. 

        I have always found the pond a peaceful place, for it is my grandfather’s pond.  I see my grandfather’s love and gentle touch in the beauty and tranquility of the tiny pond, even the thin layer of algae/moss.  The pond is a quiet place, with many things going on beneath its watery surface.  Similar to the pond, my grandfather is a quiet man, but his small acts of kindness, and of love, remind me that there is still so much more that I have yet to learn about him in my 17 years of life.  There is still so much more that I need to know.