Birds trill in repetitive love calls on every side. 
    near 
   and far. 
                                                     The wind dances on the water 
                                                                creating patterns 
                                                                    of ripples and 
                                                                          swirls. 

It blows against my face and I feel 
its tender efforts to comfort and cool. 

The flying insects play on the surface of the water 
chasing each other and then 
    parting            into         separate               directions: 
                                                                             but 
    It's not anger - it's only part of the game. 

Something excites the crickets and the constant 
vibrations terrace into a full swell. 

Across the water, a jogger slows to a walk. 
Bare-chested, I see his heart racing 
unaware that the pace has slowed. 

A fish jumps into the air 
and returns to the water; 
more life is hidden 
beneath 
the 
surface. 

". . . young women generally 
seem glad to be at Walden," says Henry David 
"They look in the pond and at the flowers. . . 
. . . and improve their time." 

But--does Henry understand what they see? 
. . . generally?