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The Pond

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Old 03-30-2007, 03:58 PM
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Default The Pond


The Pond

Dry grass tickles the bottom of my feet as I run to the edge of Grandmaís pond. The musty smell of fish rises off the water. Flinging myself down on the bank, I sink my toes into the dark, cool mud. I tear off a piece of doughball and roll it between my fingers before popping a piece in my mouth. The salty taste of bread mingles with peanut butter and tangy vanilla on my tongue, and I roll another small ball and squish it onto my fishing hook. The sun turns the tiny hairs on my arms golden as I cast my line in a big, lazy arc onto the slurping pond. Plop. My bobber sinks and pops back up again. The buzzing of insects gets louder as a pair of dragonflies zip past me, their sleek metallic bodies joined together. They hover near the water for a moment and then are gone. I set my pole down on the bank and reach up over my head, stripping the leaves off of the small saplings that circle the pond. Their green smell is released into the afternoon air as I separate leaves from branches and throw them into the air over my head. The ruined leaves cascade softly onto my sunburned shoulders, kissing them coolly before settling onto the grass. I hold the bare branch in my hands and whip it back and forth, listening to the whistling sound it makes as it slices through the air. My bobber waits patiently for a burbling fish to find the baited hook beneath. I tilt my head to the side and the pond tilts back at me; as I close one eye against the blazing sun I can see tiny water striders skating in circles on the pondís sticky skin. I hug my dirty, scabbed knees hard to my chest and then throw my arms out as wide as I can get them, hugging the pond, the grassy bank, and the sky, in an irrepressible fit of joy. The summer sun skitters behind a cloud for a moment and the pondís face grows dark. After a moment the sun returns and dimples the pondís surface again. Cattails sway regally at the waterís edge, surrendering their silky white seeds to the breeze. I can hear the sputtering tractor circle in the fields behind the brick house and the overgrown flowerbeds. I grow drowsy in the toasty summer sun. I lay my head down in the stiff grass, poking my cheeks, and close my eyes. The sun turns the inside of my eyelids pink and threads of light dance before my closed eyes as I drift off to sleep.

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Old 03-30-2007, 04:07 PM
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Very nice,piperdawn. Took me back to my childhood and the summers spent in the country. I enjoyed the read, everything seemed as real as I remembered. Good job.
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Old 03-30-2007, 04:08 PM
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Thanks, Gunner. Where did you grow up? I grew up in Ohio.
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Old 03-30-2007, 06:09 PM
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Grew up mostly in St.Louis, but spent most of my summers in the country at my aunt and Uncle's place about sixty miles south of St. Louis. Back then that was country.
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Old 03-30-2007, 06:18 PM
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Great description and imagery. My only suggestion is to break up the piece into a few paragraphs.
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Old 03-30-2007, 06:20 PM
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Thank you, Starrwriter. You're right.

I'm wondering--do other people know what "doughball" is? My grandma would make it for me to fish with--old bread, mixed with peanut butter and vanilla. As I think about it now, why did she add the vanilla? Anyway, did anyone else ever fish with doughball?

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Old 03-30-2007, 08:40 PM
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Nice going, Piper. Take out the two "as" uses, make two paragraphs of this piece, and into a book or short story or just a tale to read your children to sleep - lovely.
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