The pond is open now. The cold
of winter’s grip no longer holds
the water’s gently pulsing scroll.
Surprised, I watch the spring unfold.
Surprised, because I feared the toll
of losing you would break the whole
and leave me lost in endless past,
beyond the touch that might console.
But now the darker months have passed
And spring’s return to life is fast –
My walking’s gained a stronger pace –
As if from death you’ve come at last.
The pond is now a sacred place
Where on the waves I find your face.
Tennis with the net up 