And the earth said…

And the earth said…

Let there be snapping turtles!

(Born on the first day of Autumn, 2016, South Pond.)

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No Virgins

No Virgins

There were 20 minutes when no one was there.
Not on the beach.
Not in the water.
Not across the pond.

I strip down in an instant
and dive into the September waters
without compassion
and daringly continue out
toward our town
the altar of summer.

I lift myself onto the dock
and lie there
under the sun,
one middle-aged breast
deflating to each side.
No virgin offering
to this lasting day of summer.

And before I hear a car door slam
or the crunch of a stick underfoot,
I slip off the dock
and make my way back through the cool water to the shore.

I wrap myself in a towel,
and stand at the water’s edge
to let the sun kiss my face,
in communion with the stillness
of water
of Everything.

Just then, a head appears,
out of the soft ripples I left behind.
It’s the one we’ve watched grow from a chick on his mother’s back
to being left behind by the mating pair to come of age on his own.

The loon and I regard one another,
and then he dives under the water again,
and I sit down with a book.

Russ and Andi appear
in their beach chairs
behind me
in the grass.

And together
we hold the silence
of the eternal moment…
of this summer day

Until we’re startled by a flock of geese
who lift from the banks
and swoop across our view,
and circle the pond
and rise over the mountains

Heading south.





While everyone is back at school
or at work,
the last rays of summer
speed West across South Pond
in a zillion points of white.

Like a city-scape
reflecting into space,
the competition is so dense
as to render the
deepest waters

Amidst these miniature mariners of light,
propels himself
in the opposite
heading East
Chasing summer
in a one-man Olympic event–
His flamboyant breast stroke
Knocking tiny boats into the breeze.
His mate
no where to be seen.

Closer still,
the wind picks up
flattening white sails
against water
while others furiously tack
toward the Finish line.

I close my eyes,
unable to bear such weight,
waiting for
Sails to drop
Sailors to go home
Waters to still
to call for his
in the silent

The “W” Word

The “W” Word

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It is time to “put the padlock on the gate” says the notice to members of South Pond, the timeless gathering place of summer.

This is crushing news to those of us who hold onto the sun until the ice freezes our fingers, and releases them, frost by frost, until we have lost our grip on summer, and even fall.

Today’s was a hard frost, but at least the sun is shining. Yesterday, when it was mostly grey, I saw my body flinging itself off a cliff over and over again. Luckily I was in my bed, under the covers, with a novel, ignoring the coming gloom of November.

In the evening, a friend invited us to gather around a fire in the woods behind her home. I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to do anything. But I did, and I was a better for it.

As the first star pieced the sky, I soaked up as much yellow and orange and red as I could from the flames inside her pit. This is our way of capturing the sun, I thought.  This is our way of making it ours, until it returns again to wake the world in tender greens.

Snow is the forecast this week. Snow.  There. I said it. The “S” word. (But I refuse to say the “W” word–no matter what the forecast.)

As a Vermonter of 18 years, I accept snow around Halloween, although I welcome a balmy night on which to Trick or Treat. Either is possible this time of year, as the Earth begins to rock us toward the “W” word– into that long, white slumber of deep.

Kelly Salasin, Marlboro, VT

Summer’s Goodbye

Summer’s Goodbye

South Pond Heaven, Kelly Salasin, September 2011, all rights reserved

Deer in the North

Owl in the West

Geese in the sky

Crickets in the grass

Clouds above

and below

as I float on the pond

Waters pregnant

with Summer’s Goodbye


like a Nursing Mother,

Will this be the last time?

~Kelly Salasin, New Moon, September 2011