On New Year at Walden

2013 and the setting sun was masked in cloud. Walden, grey upon grey layer of ice. Cold, hard and unforgiving. The lack of color, depressing. Somber, old, (not the purity of fresh fallen snow). Weighed down by the spent year.

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2014. Struggling through coffee and into clothes, enough layers for the teen degree morning. Walden, a need boiling inside me…bubbling up from my gut into my chest, like footsteps quickening my heart.

Between one breath 2013 dissolves and 2014 becomes. The featureless contours of pond ice transformed into brilliant blue sheen.

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There had been a dusting of snow overnight. The breeze had swept it into long strands lying on the glassy blue surface, or patches, speckled like powdered icing sugar on cake. Stones, pebbles under the ice, protected like museum artifacts on the brown sandy backdrop of the pond floor. Another world. Inaccessible. I walked on the slick hard ice, sadness streaking through me. Walking on water. Not in water. Water making for the shore suddenly transfixed in time. Ice ripples.

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“Whoop. Whoop.” The sound of ice when wind is caught between it and water. As if a bird is calling across the frozen surface of the world. Ricocheting to and fro. An long low eerie howl. Water trapped under ice, wailing to be free.

“Chink. Chink.” Sound bubbles from the hidden distance across the frozen pond. The last freedom of water before the freeze.

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