The Glass Pond

The fog settles quietly overtop the glass pond.
The wind doesn't stir the cattails.
And the frog does not croak.
Only in the distant forest beyond, can you hear the ever throaty, shrill of a crow.
This pond is stagnant and as grey as a snowy, cold night.
Caught in between the seasons of Fall and Winter, ice has begun to creep its way around the edges.
Ice as thin as lace.
My heart still longs for the spring times growth.
But as winter spills its white poison over the hills...
Onto the trees...
On top of rooftops...
And sends it welcome in the night breeze...
I still wait for you.
Like the pond waiting for the river to flow...
Giving it new life and the deer a drink so cold.
I fear something that is too good to be true...
For when the seasons of the heart change too...
From red to pink, to yellow, to blue...
I will always burn with the fire of love for you.
Even if your heart chameleons to blue through the wait for me...
And if we stop talking and I forget just how precious you are to me...
And me to you...
I'll read the letters out near the glass pond.
When the wind is beating the trees...
And when the fog is forced to move on...
Or when the frog and raven share the same note...
That is when I'll read those letters you sent me...
And feel the love that we once wrote.