I haven't been to my pond since May, partially because of CPE, but mainly because it's been so beastly hot. Hottest August on record, they say.
We got a cool front. It will be gone by this afternoon, so I pulled on my shoes and as soon as the children were out the door, I slipped out. Ah. Sweet coolness.
I got there, walked down the hill ...
My pond is gone.
I walked around the far edge, toward where the water was deeper.
Splat! A bird pooped on my head.
"In some cultures, this is considered good luck," I muttered grimly, wiping it off.
I walked farther. A bit of the pond remains and it was filled, filled with cranes and ... pelicans? Not pelicans, but some type of pink bird. Which means it has come from some place else.
My phone rang. It was the husband. His best friend and his family just had to evacuate their house from the wildfires to the north of us. More wildfires are burning through the state park where I went to so many family reunions. The small town where my mother grew up during WWII.
I continue walking ... it's possible to do that, with a broken heart.
I walk down to my favorite little part, where the turtles used to poke up their heads, then furiously splash away if I blinked. My turtles ... Now, it is just dry, cracked earth.
I turn the corner and a giant bunny, as big as my fat old cat at home, bounces across the path and into the woods. I've never seen a rabbit here, and though I know it speaks to the dry conditions, still, I am thrilled by the gift.
I go home. I take a shower with clean water. I go to my refrigerator and cold, filtered water fills my glass.
I drink it, reverently.