I stand so still by the pond that spiders have woven webs between my fingers and birds perch unafraid upon my outstretched arms. A toddling child has found his way to my secluded garden spot. I enjoy his silent company. The enchanted waters speak. “Come to me sweet little boy. I long to hold you in my watery arms.” The child steps forward and walks as if by magic on the mirrored surface, then swiftly sinks without a ripple. “Someone please come save the child,” I cry. No words pass from my frozen lips. My feet are anchored to the earth and my legs are made of granite. Far across the lawn a man sprints towards me. He leaps neck-deep into the pool and frees his son from the sucking mud below. I am so ashamed. I should have acted but I could not move. “Who called to me?” The man holds his dripping child and scans the leafy woods. I am just another lichen-covered object in the forest. The child opens his dark eyes and stares directly into mine, which are unblinking, made of stone.
Suzi Marquess Long "The Pond"
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