I spent eight weeks on the June Arthur farm in upstate New York during the COVID-19 pandemic. For some of those days, I wrote about the small man-made pond sunk into the back lawn.
Friday October 2 Saturday October 3 Sunday October 4 Monday October 5 Tuesday October 6 Wednesday October 7 Thursday October 8
Notes mentioning this note
Friday | 2 October 2020
Today, the pond is a mossy, muddy green, the dull surface blurred by a thousand pinging rain drops, concentric ringing,...
Sunday | 4 October 2020
While usually I look at the pond and imagine its cool water with desire, today the bitter chill of the...
Monday | 5 October 2020
The pond seems dark and deep today, endless, like a hole excavated with terrible slowness, with centuries of labor. The...
Tuesday | 6 October 2020
Many more leaves this morning, though seemingly only where the trees are reflected. Some trick of the ligh, where the...
Wednesday | 7 October 2020
The water’s gone green again, rough-skinned, like the back of a toad.