The Pond

In winter

I trudge down to the pond
carrying a huge bag stuffed with extra mittens and socks,
bundled up in my winter protection.
I perch on the icy dock that’s halfway buried in snow
and pull my skates on before gliding
out onto the clear cool glass.

In spring

I skip down to the pond,
my fishing rod swung over my back.
I try to catch minnows—use leaves as bait
and daydream under the new sun.

In summer

I scamper down to the pond
with a towel wrapped around my body.
I stand at the edge of the dock
and it kills me
not knowing what lurks in the mysterious waters.
But I take a running jump into the cold glaze anyway.
It shatters, sending ripples everywhere.

In fall

I wander down to the pond.
It’s barren and deserted—
no skating, no swimming.
I gaze into the still water
and watch my pure reflection
as it changes every year from younger to older,
as the murky water harbors
my childhood.

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Marnie Briggs, Age 13
The Center for Teaching and Learning
Edgecomb, Maine
Teacher: Nancie Atwell