The season has come for the garden to lie fallow. Rambunctious swallows, long obsolete, left only crumbs in the feeders. Trees, having lost their leaves, are nothing more than hat-racks. But it is Bell Pond they’ve watched, and waited upon, as it has completed its annual transformation into an icy ballroom. They come from far and near – some by foot, others by automobile – to admire her beauty and grace. Who she is, no one knows. That she will come, they are certain. And she will leave them with a piece of herself as she glides once again into their hearts.
Written for The Sunday Whirl’s prompt to use the words: pond, swallows, rambunctious, fallow, automobile, crumb, ballroom, admire, bell, hat-rack, obsolete, and garden. It’s also a first attempt at “prose poetry” — so please feel free to give feedback on form, as well. 🙂