Musings of the Pond

There was a Pond. Once, it was a large lake, beautiful, full of life. But then it was drained, muddied, and fouled. Now it was a Pond. Not even a lake anymore. Pond. Damned word. Still beautiful, still inviting, but a shadow of its former self. That’s all it felt like. A shadow. Never the real thing. A pretender to the throne. A fake. But even fake lakes could feel the pain of the world around it. The world would be a good place if it didn’t have the humans in it. They came in the day, and stuck their noses into its mud. They would look at it with a mixture of contempt, and curiosity. Some would come, and sit. A few would dip their hands in, and feel the water. But none ever stayed. “Hello,” it said one day. “I’m-” “Hello?” a man said, confused. “I’m the Pond.” He made the mistake of introducing himself too early. The man blinked, and rubbed his eyes, before scrambling up, and running away. The Pond sighed. Just another day. But it noticed too, that when the man had run off, he had left his hat, and a small book. The Hat was boring. No one ever wore hats anymore. But the book was interesting. It was a small journal, with pages of scribbled notes. *You have no life. Your life is grey. You have no magic. Your life has no magic. You live in a world where everyone is the same. There is no variety. You are nothing but a greyness. A void of nothing. You have nothing but the world. And the world is nothing but grey.* *You have no life.* And then the Pond read one of the pages at random. *You have no love. Your life is lonely. You have no one. Your life has no one. You are nothing but a shadow. A pretender. A fake. You live in a world where everyone is the same. There is no variety. You are nothing but a greyness. A void of nothing. You have nothing but the world. And the world is nothing but grey.* The Pond closed the book, and sat back, staring at the sky. It never really thought about it. It felt it. But it never really *thought* about it. But now it did. It had no life. Nothing but itself, and its silence. No love. No family. Not even friends. It was a grey world around it. Not a world of beauty, and vibrancy. It sat back, and thought about it for a while. It never really thought about the world before. It felt it. But it never really *thought* about it. It thought about it for a long time. Then it found something interesting. It had something to say. It never really had anything to say before. Now it did. It felt it. But now it knew. So one day, when another man came to it, it did something it never did before. It spoke. “Hello there,” the man said, with a friendly smile. “Mind if I sit?” He sat down next to it, and dipped his hands into the water. He closed his eyes, and a look of blissful peace spread across his face. The Pond was jealous. It never knew what that felt like. It shouldn’t have spoken. It knew too much about humans to know that they don’t take kindly to lakes that talk. They would think it’s strange. They would think it’s weird. They would think it’s wrong. But it had something to say, and it couldn’t keep silent anymore. “You feel such peace, and tranquility in your life,” the Pond said. “You have a family, and friends. You have people to love you. And people you love. You have good things to say. Your life is beautiful, and warm, and vibrant. You live in a world of beauty. A world of love. A world of laughter.” The man’s eyes snapped open, and he jumped up, and stared at the Pond. He scrambled around, as if looking for someone else that was talking. The Pond had never seen someone move around like that before. What was he doing? “Stop that,” it said. The man stopped moving around. “Move slowly,” it said. “You’ll hurt yourself if you move too quickly.” The man stopped, and stared at the Pond. “I’m not talking to a lake,” the man said. “But you’re not talking to a lake,” the Pond said. “What do you mean?” “I mean you wouldn’t be talking to a lake. So obviously, you’re not talking to a lake. But you are talking to me. And I am a lake.” The Pond smiled. The man didn’t answer. “You don’t have anything to say?” it asked. “No,” the man said. “I’m not talking to a lake.” “But you are talking to a lake,” the Pond said. “So you do have something to say. So say it.” The man thought for a little while. He looked at the ground, and his eyes darted back, and forth. He thought about something. And then he spoke. “You’re a magic lake. So you have magic. Magic is beautiful. You have beauty. You’re special.” The Pond thought about this. Was that all the man had to say? Just two sentences? “Is that all you have to say?” it asked. The man thought about it. “Yes. That’s all I have to say.” The Pond thought for a moment. It wanted to say something back. It had something to say. It didn’t know what it was. The man waited. Finally, it knew what it was. It was something simple. It was something easy. But it was something. “Two sentences are not enough. Say another.” The man thought for a moment. “You’re old. You’ve lived for a long time.” The Pond sighed, and nodded its head. That was it. That was the last thing it was going to say. The man got up, and left. The Pond sat down, and thought. It felt a new feeling. It was strange, and hard to describe. But it felt empty. Like something was missing. But it thought about it for a while. And it saw that it was wrong. It wasn’t empty. It actually felt the opposite. It felt full. It felt whole. It felt complete. That was the first time it ever felt that way. Then it realized why. It talked. It said what it wanted to say. It said what it had to say. It got it off its chest. It never felt that way before. It never felt so happy, and so relieved. It never felt so free. The Pond sat back, and thought about it. It never felt free before. But now it did. It closed its eyes, and let the sun set on its face. It felt free.

Musings of the Pond

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