The Pond

It was still bright when I got home from Brooklyn. I could have occupied myself other ways, but somehow I ended up in Central Park. I figured I'd walk for an hour at the most.

I arrived at a place I'd been several months before. The last time I was at this spot, I'd recently been pelted with snow, unexpectedly. My friend and I had stopped to watch the crowd at the ice rink. A foreign woman had gotten sick not three yards away, and I just happened to have a freshly purchased packet of Kleenex to offer her. She was cute and embarrassed. We gave her some cloths and walked away.

This time, though, it was hot, and the rink had been replaced by rides and a clown named Mugsy, who was trying to entertain a small group of young children and their parents. He wasn't entertaining, so I left.

I walked up to the top of the rocks and then down to the pathway I'd followed then. Instead of heading left, however, I turned right, and walked around the bend to a place I hadn't seen before.

I stood a long while staring at the waterfall and rocks, wondering how the day might have ended if we'd had the patience and inclination to walk further.