Small Pond

I jog past the cattail pond on West Ox, a containment pond, I suppose. But filled with cattails and buzzing with insects it becomes much more. It makes me think: There are as many hidden glades and sunny meadows in our neighborhood as one needs to inspire creative thought, to parse an identity. In other words: There are revelations that come to me along the path, and if I'm listening, they will find me. The natural world, even one as cramped and pruned as ours, holds wisdom.