Time's Face on the Waters

I stand at the edge of the pond and watch the ripples sing their song to the summer sky. The clouds are more beautiful. The ducks that fly are more graceful. Trees mirror their arching boughs over the big puddle and seem to come alive. Then, I look into the pond and see my face as it glows—not like a fairy ring, but as a younger man, the man I knew thirty years ago. The more the pond stirs, the better the reflection is framed by the big sky, the trees and the ducks. It is better not to look at me when the pond turns icy and freezes. There is nothing then but the gray backdrop, leafless boughs and ducks flown south. This is truth's face when time is seen upon the waters.