Pinnacle of hotness these days in these parts. Everything is
overlapped by humidity and heavy warmth. Young frogs leap willy-
nilly, escaping me and the rising temperatures, and even the
dragonfly’s wings are pressed by the humidity, held in place by the heat.
Phrases of tiny gnats, fragments really, fly around my face,
omen of a short life, and all that is delicate; audacious
naggers, they whirl about my head, land on my lips,
dip into my eyes as if they were other smaller ponds.
Presented as among the first harbingers of fall,
outline of elegant lace this plant named for Queen Anne,
needlework of nature, and the clover too are
doubling up their progeny, as tiny daisies are drawn up by the warmth.
Poles of shadows of telephone wires
overhanging the pond, shadow of two swallows
nowhere but here and on the wire, and as if from below,
displaying its radiance, the sun bursts from the bottom of the pond.
Author's note: These four-lines poems are from a one-year-long project called POND. The poems are acrostics. Everyday, at different times during the day, I visit our pond with notebook and camera in hand. I jot down some notes, take a picture or two, if a good photo op. presents itself. Then I head home and write a four line acrostic using the letters P, O, N, and D. I did this for one year. The other caveat, which makes the project so interesting to me, is that I cannot use any of my first words more than once. I need a different P, O, N, or D word every day.