As the busy fall blended into dreary winter, I remember one day in particular when, although winter was approaching, it was unseasonably warm, and I was out for a late afternoon walk. It was a good day, (i.e., a day when my legs are strong) and I circled the pond six or seven times over the course of an hour and a half. The whole time, the sky became more and more ominous, spitting rain off and on, as a harsh wind kept me wondering if those who were tuned to the airways knew of an impending tornado. The sky was churning billowy cloud masses, and it felt as if Armageddon was upon us. There was an eerie darkness, but, something about being near the pond made it all feel invigorating.

I think that’s the day I became smitten by the pond, as it sat black and silent, not competing with the natural elements surrounding it. It dared me to take another lap each time I passed the path to our house. In total confidence and full comfort, I repeatedly did, until it became too dark to see my footing. Only then did I walk away, and I did so reluctantly.