By the pond.

On a day of undecided weather, the wind and sun competed to disturb the water, ruffling and reflecting as clouds cast ever-changing shadows. In the sandy, crunching earth, I tiptoed loudly, plants nodding heavy heads as I skirted them, brushing against their leaves. Near the water's edge, I became a heron, and the frogs leapt away from reach, breaking the surface with a satisfying pebble splash. They became visible, then, in the dark water, pale green legs awkward in shape, but graceful in speed. A few stayed, bravely, in the mud, watching me with black and yellow spheres as we all listened to the trees shimmering with birdsong and the seaside rush of the wind in the grass. In a moment of sunlight, a turtle pushed through the water, a comical curmudgeon blinking sudden brightness away. Everything seemed still, then; resting in the warmth and the chaos of bird, frog, insect noise. Crouching, I breathed it in as my legs began to ache, then slowly stood, and walked, and crunched the sandy earth as I moved away.