At the Koi pond, she saw clouds floating with coral colored carp.
Sky shimmered water.
The lace of ice.
“It’s beautiful,” she said to no one, because on this cool morning there was no one.
No children tugging at her coat telling her they needed to pee,
no parent “chaperones” idly chatting about how it might help if she spent a little bit more time with their Scotty, or Annie, or Celia or Giles
no one for her to count, or shush, or order to walk beside her, “now.”
No one but a man combing the clay colored gravel into wave like patterns,
or the couple there, their grayed heads bowed as they walk silently by,
or that man with his camera set on a tripod in front of a large bare Japanese maple.
Winter branches arched and curved into the calligraphy of a poem.
(Note: everyday I try to take one black and white photograph. Sometimes a story comes with them. When they do, I will post them here.)
