Christmas at Walden.

My body trembles with the vibration of silence. Not accustomed to such peace, such stillness. It reaches into my bones and gently shakes them awake. It is the beauty of this place. The quiet it offers.

The silence is as deep as the pond, reaching ninety feet into my marrow, the knuckles of my spine. I feel it creeping through nerves rooted in my pelvis, reaching into my brain.

The water is returned. Three ponds, separate by ice borders. They shine brown, and clear and blue into the backdrop of a sky filled with vibrant cold light. The air sits low in the 20’s. (I talk Fahrenheit despite my upbringing in southern skies. I am familiar now with winter Christmases.)

Life is sleeping in Walden. Her world silent. Tucked in for the winter. Yet her skin wavers, some stretched tight like glass, most still shimmering, inviting wild ducks now we humans have gone.

I walk her perimeter. Alternate dirt path and woods, and a pavement of ice. Watching stars twinkle within her. Secrets never caught, never known. 

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