At the water’s edge, a weathered sign reads “No Fishing,” accompanied by a stark warning: “ALLIGATORS.” This warning alone deters most people, except for the young, reckless, or foolish. Day after day, I find myself irresistibly drawn to this scene, gazing out over the tranquil waters, captivated by the mysteries concealed beneath their surface.
The glassy reflection shatters as rings break, sparking my curiosity. Are they the work of dragonflies or damselflies, gracefully skimming the surface? Perhaps fish, curious and unseen, are the culprits? Occasionally, heads rise and dip again—turtles, I assume—while the unmistakable snout of an alligator glides silently from one shaded resting place to another.
Life flourishes at the water’s edge. A family of ducks cautiously navigates between tangled hiding spots, while sandhill cranes make their way along the shallows, their piercing calls echoing through the air. In the reeds, a lone heron patiently waits, poised and still, ready to seize fish, snake, or anything else that promises a meal. Here, danger and beauty coexist in perfect stillness, a wild ballet that unfolds regardless of whether anyone is observing.
I’ve spent many a sunrise gazing at that pond. It wasn’t exactly what I envisioned for my retirement, especially the no-fishing rule. However, I’ve learned to find joy in what I have. I spent many years exploring salt marshes and camping on the shores of trout ponds. I do miss those experiences, but I’ve come to appreciate the present moment and the beauty that surrounds me.
