Ducks Goose Pond
Ponds (and ducks and geese) are the base of my sacred space. I have this pond that I love to visit for absolutely no apparent purpose, and I have aptly named it “Ducks Goose Pond.” Situated (ironically) beside the busy roads, this pond is a rather small one. The water is murky gray-aquamarine, surrounded by shards of rocks for a shoreline, dense bushes, and pillars of evergreen trees alongside the inclined grassfield. In the center of the pond is a fountain that shoots water in nine perfect, asymmetrical directions. But this is my favorite part: the ducks and geese. There are always so many of them, as if they are forever waiting for me.
I don’t wear anything special here. It’s casual clothes that are so insignificant I don’t even remember what. But it doesn’t matter. It’s not like I’m at school and I need to dress in a presentable fashion. These waterbirds can not care less about how I look. Here, I don’t need to worry about how my glasses are way too small or how I’m stupid for lugging around a suitcase to school or how my loving mother cut my hair and now my head looks like a paintbrush.
here i am
Sometimes, I crouch down to the same level as these waterbirds, falling down to get a closer look at how they walk the Earth. I often wonder if I’m wasting my time here, and that some urgency demands me to hurry up. I get envious of these waterbirds. I bet they don’t worry about the mounting math homework nor the stockpiling chemistry lab work nor the need to do well on the SAT to get into a good college to get a good job to get a good life and then ultimately question what good I got out of it. These waterbirds don’t feel any sense of urgency to finish their tranquil drift on the pond; no one judges how they are wasting their time.
One time, school ended, and I took the public bus to Ducks Goose Pond. The bus was speeding–really, everyone was–to be on time. Nuzzled in my seat, I contemplated the deadlines of my schoolwork. What a weird word. “Deadline.” Does it come from the idea of a visible line that marks our death, reminding us that life is ephemeral and to thereby act with a sense of urgency?
His fragile life was almost pitched away. A speeding helmetless motorcyclist weaved through the car lines recklessly to get ahead, and I get reminded of a quote by Barbara Kingsolver: “At the next red light[,] they will all be stopped together, the fast drivers and the slow.” Some time passed, and I reached my stop. I got off the bus and waddled towards the pond.
The sky hastily darkened at five pm when a quiet black layering plastered the pale blue above. The smell was that of the winter dew interlaced with the withering vegetation. The pond reflected the pale blurred blue above, and the fountain’s soft striking spotlight pierced through the water. And of course, many ducks. The ducks lull across the pond from right to left, like mysterious celestial beings shooting silently across space, trailing silky mosaic ripples as a collective. I try taking photos to immortalize this moment from the future, but photos are limited. Taking this shot does not exactly mean that I can live in the present once more.
I pace around the pond and soon notice a goose standing on a boulder. The sun eventually sets, and the sky is now black with a flick of indigo. I watch that goose, and there is something surreal about a goose watching ducks in the night, gazing across the pond and being pulled by distant duck calls. In that goose, I see a lonely being, standing upright in the dark but also a little scared, eyeing down that soft lemon glow and gentle dousing, wondering if the rebellious action to take is to simply submerse in the water, directing its effortless feet and allowing the nudging affectionate heart to subconsciously guide oneself, uncaring for whether or not this might take a patient, perfect lifetime.
The goose stays idle. I do too. I take a photo of the goose, this time, not to capture the present but to remind myself of Frank Ocean’s question: “How far is a lightyear?”
It is in moments like this that love can naturally develop in a patient way. This patience is my trust in the pond to be a boulder where I can lean on, rest on, and gather myself to jump off. With the serendipitous calls from the ducks, I stand upright in the dark…
…and row into the royal blue swirl
Inspired by Mary Oliver
