Saturday | 3 October 2020

The water to the southwest is flat and glassy this morning, the muck green water muting fall colors: reds turned to wheatmeal, meyer-lemon yellows to umber, pine green to taupe, or wenge. Closer to the window (the house is directly north of the pond, and the land has been cleared beyond for wetland restoration and cattle grazing), a breeze has caught the top of the water, blurring out the reflection into pixelated lines, like bits of magnet aligned to face northeast.

One trunk, with particularly impeccable posture – an oak? – divides the pond into two. On the right, bright gray mid expansive sky. On the left, a beckoning forest two children might find themselves having wandered into.

Then, all is still, then, the surface moves slightly and the leaves look like they’re moving with the wind, but the branches are still. An illusion? A reality? The truth is relative here.