Big fish in a small pond. Moved to a big pond and down a rung or two. The rules of the game changed; competition was brutal. Mid-fish didn’t want to play that way. Crisis. She shook off over-scheduled city bustle and drove. Drove and drove and drove. Home. She didn’t tell anyone at all and drove right to her little pond where the house was yet to be built. Down the dirt road, into the woods, out of the car, across the woods, into a clearing, down the dock, and sat. Sat and sat and sat. Until the painted turtles, bullfrogs, even the heron blinked in wonder. Fish jumped, dragonflies buzzed, pond water lapped very quietly. Jump buzz lap, jump buzz lap. The rhythm played on and on and on. It cradled her, soothed her, reminded her. The next day she announced her arrival, had a proper visit, and drove back to the city. She was never the same, and it was good.
This one is a true story. I bought a copy of this photograph to remind me of that trip, and it sits on my enormous desk of papers and books and notes awaiting my attention. YOU can get a copy of this and other really wonderful photos here: http://www.etsy.com/shop/Crystalphotography