by BB Curtis

I live in an amazing world. Flowers, trees, bushes, stones, clouds, sun, moon, stars, fish, fowl, dogs, cats, horses, food that grows from the ground, breeze . . . as I relax on the sun-warmed surface of a large, flat stone, my toes only six inches from the water in the duck pond, nineteen ducks and seven pigeons are stationed on rocks or floating on the water within five yards of me. They are not afraid of humans since they are fed regularly by most of the residents of the complex. They are plump with birdseed, stale bread, and (unfortunately) old donuts. Some bask in the sun, others preen, yet others stand an informal guard – there are stray cats in the neighborhood. Since the pond is man-made, there is a spot, not quite center, that bubbles up as the water from the lowest of the three ponds is recirculated in order to keep the waterfalls flowing. It creates ripples and small waves and causes the ducks who are resting on the water’s surface to bob gently. The sun is warming my back, my neck, and the back of my left ankle, for it is getting closer to winter than summer; and, though it is mid-day, it is low in the southern sky. The breeze rustles the palm fronds and purple plum trees’ leaves, creating a soft, lulling melody, which is in harmony with the water splashing from the fountain in the lowest pond and the water lapping up against the rocky edge at my feet. The movement of the leaves creates sunshine, shade, sunshine, shade on the paper as I write; and I can feel the hair on my arms move in that breeze. The stone has begun to feel cold underneath me since it is in my shadow, and the heat that was only surface-deep due to the night chill now doesn’t really ever go away in the weaker rays of the non-direct sun. Four more pigeons have landed on a larger, flat stone to my left. They don’t seem to notice that I’m here. One just flew over the pond to join his friends on the rock two feet to my right, and two of the remaining three join him within seconds. The last, a pure white one, took his time surveying the rocks around the whole pond before taking short flight to rejoin his group. The ducks remain as they have been except that the preening ones are now resting with heads tucked under wings.

I live in an amazing world – don’t you?

© Bobbi Bartsch Curtis 2015, All Rights Reserved