Towl Park Journal Day 84, March 31, 2017

Towl Park Journal Day 84, March 31, 2017

It's a prettier day than we've had all week. The sun is faint, but out. The grass at Towl Park is a bright emerald green. Spring green. Summer grass is more watered down in color. Spring grass looks like a bright green new magic marker. It's striking.

 

So far, the trees are just budding. They are more cautious. It's ended badly for them before in this tricky prairie climate. They've bloomed only to be snapped dead in a spring freeze in late April. As a result, they aren't as carefree as grass. They take their time. Emerge slowly, carefully. And that pleases me. I've been fooled by false springs too many times to say. I've carried all of my plants outdoors on a balmy warm day in late April, only to have a freak ice storm hit, forcing me to hurry them all inside again. We know to take our sweet time here on the plains.

 

I sit in Towl Park and am pleased to see that someone has done some pond cleaning. Last week, I took photos of some trash cozied up on the pond's edge. It was too far for me to reach and I had other things to write about that day, so I sighed and made a mental note to bring a rake the next time that I came. Do some spring cleaning.

 

I pack up a rake in the back of the car today but when I arrive, I find that someone had beat me to the job. I am so happy! This pond deserves to look pretty. I think it makes us all feel better, the birds, the fish, all wildlife, dogs, and people who sit or walk by this place of peace. I can't tell you what a bridge this pond has been for me. I've come here on my darkest, saddest days and left with a lighter heart just from sitting here quietly. Just from watching this pond, observing everyone else.

 

But, mostly it has just been this pond. Just this pond.

 

Today, no one is about. When I arrive, a lady is being walked by two huge dogs. One dog is black, the other golden. The woman is smallish and in a good humor as the dogs decide to explore in different directions. She's laughing and I think that the dogs are laughing, too. After they leave, it's just me and the pond for the rest of the hour.

 

And the frogs. Toads? Not sure. There seems to be a pond frog jumping contest. The frogs (toads?) are easily as big as my hand. They settle on the rocks surrounding the pond and then take one huge leap and they're in the water swimming swiftly to the other side with their strong legs.

 

I get up and furtively perch by the side of the pond, being as quiet as I can. I'm hoping to get a photo of them with my phone. But, it's not happening. They all dive underwater and don't emerge again until I go back to my chair and sit without moving for nearly ten minutes. Frogs are very wily. They've been pursued by little children for hundreds of years. They've developed great hiding and escaping skills.

 

Today, I am grateful for two things: 1) For tidy people who keep our pond clean and 2)  For frogs. (Toads?)

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