In the early morning there was almost-ice. Now, the maple leaves float across the pond, the blue sky and dark branches reflected on the surface of the water. At the bottom, waterlogged, a thick layer of fallen leaves covers mud, and the mud covers sleeping frogs and turtles. The water is clear as glass and smells strangely sweet, like must. In this pond the gods are brewing maple leaf wine.
Everyime I read one of your blogs I think… this one is my favourite! It turns out that they are all my favourites – I love your writing and love how you see the world and express your thoughts and feelings through your words, painting images for me to read, then ponder. I remain… your biggest fan.