There’s a pond or a puddle, depends on how you look at it, that occupies one gig of pride beyond the tree line. It has proven to be its surroundings most expressive feature, an eye of earth that allows reflection, regardless of its depth. Which is impossible to decipher anyhow and to comprehend it is to injure eternity. This pond is Jan’s pond. It is potentially infinite and probably minute. The perfect setting for an empath to ponder the difference of ice and sewage, a pool overflowing from the hose left on, a crooked cuckoo that never chimes, a bad case of island greed, a self reliant duck who calls this pond home. A place to meet and give each other a new sip of that musty old pond that we are.
You can be sure of two things at Jan’s pond, whatever is reflected is true and that someone was liquidated the day it was created.