Pond Thoughts

It's an early, sparkly June morning. I am back in from the garden where I raked, trimmed and swept in preparation for a dinner tomorrow night. The pump in my small pond needed to be cleaned, so I hauled it out onto the moss and dumped the rich black water. The twin frogs in residence hid in the pond bottom. They arrived two weeks ago. I heard their loud bullfrog songs before I saw them. A few days later tiny splashes caught my eye when something flicked out from under a fern leaf at the pond's edge. I had to laugh at how little twins produce such big sounds. The frogs grow quickly, so now they are about an inch long. It always feels like an honor when frogs choose my pond for home. Who knows why?

The pump is six years old. It stops bubbling when the silt gets too thick. When I get around to it, I unplug it, dump the water and clean the filters. It is a messy job but one I actually like. I get to play in dirty water and get messy myself. The mystery of the task is whether or not the old pump will revive itself one more time. I always think it may not because it has served its expected term and has been clogged so many times. But once again today, Old Faithful came through for me.

I like the metaphor of this pump. It reminds me that there are times when we all get filled up with silt, gunk, algae and the debris of our lives. Sometimes we keep trying to bubble and pump our selves when we are badly clogged. Sometimes we just stop pumping. Our bodies cannot take any more of what is our normal activity. Sometimes all we need is time out for the rush of clean water to clear our filters. Then we can reposition our fountain spouts and get back to the pond of life where our moving waters and gentle songs contribute beauty and attact others.