In any given year, 
I've said good-bye
to you, 
my dear vernal pool 
in late May 
or early June. 

But this year 
of Twenty-twenty-three
has been like no other
as you've retained water
beyond your ephemeral season.

When upon July 14
I peered into 
your shallow depth,
I was greeted
with frog legs
growing upon tadpole bodies,
a sight not witnessed
in your waters 
ever before. 

In years past
miniature amphibians
had to mature quickly
or become scavenged tidbits
supplying energy
to insects and birds,
but this year, 
the Wood Frogs 
and Spotted Salamanders
who share birthrights
of your pool
took their time 
to metamorph.

As I stood quietly
beside you,
you invited an American Robin
to land on the opposite shore
and I could not believe
my good fortune 
to watch its behavior. 

Much to my amazement,
and despite my presence, 
for no matter how still 
I tried to be 
I still made noise,
the Robin
splished and splashed
in frantic birdbath form. 

It paused
and looked about . . . 

Then jumped in again
for a final rinse 
from your warm waters
before taking time 
to preen. 

Finally cleansed,
the bird posed
upon a moss carpet
and then 
we both took our leave
fully sated from your offerings
of that day. 

When next I visited you
on August 9,
wonder accompanied 
my approach
and I knew 
sudden movements
and resulting ripples
meant I would not be
disappointed. 

Below your surface,
I spied a live frog,
its hind legs formed 
and front feet developing. 

And there was another,
and another, 
and more legs,
and sometimes even
the tiny suction-cuppy toes
and my heart was full again.

I last made my way
down the cow path
to the trail
leading to you
on August 18
and again
the amount of water
you held in your grip
far exceeded
my expectations,
but other than 
Mosquitoes,
all was quiet. 

And then today dawned,
 and after listening 
to this morning's homily
about Celtic Thin Places
offered by Ev Lennon, 
I felt compelled
to pay you a visit again. 
On the way
I slowed my brain
by intentionally stepping
along the labyrinth path
I created a few years ago. 

And then . . . and then . . . 
as I approached you, 
my dear pool, 
a pile of Black Bear scat,
full of acorn and apple pieces
from a neighborhood forage,
sat smack dab 
in the middle of the trail. 

And so it was 
that as I reached you, 
surprise again overcame me,
for though you are shrinking
to your traditional 
early June size, 
you still exist
on this day, September 3. 

Small Water Striders skated
across your surface,
sometimes approaching others
who quickly
escaped any chance
for an embrace. 

As has been
my experience 
for the last month
you offered no evidence 
of Wood Frog or Spotted Salamanders
and I trust many 
hopped or crawled out
as is their manner. 
Green Frogs, however, 
squealed to announce 
their presence
before diving under 
the leafy bottom you offer, 
which makes a perfect hideout. 
When one frog resurfaced, 
we carried on a starring contest, 
until my attention
was drawn away. 

Ten feet from 
where I stood 
American Goldfinches 
poked the ground, 
foraging in the duff. 

Then one took a bath, 
and suddenly it 
occurred to me
that this was 
the third time this summer
I've had the honor 
of watching birds 
make use of the watery offering
your pool provides,
even as it is now
a not-so-vernal puddle. 

Before I finally
pulled myself
away from you, 
I offered great thanks 
for all the lessons 
of life and love and even loss
that you have
taught me all these years. 

And thank you,
Ev, 
for being today's inspiration
and for reawakening 
my wonder, 
which occasionally goes dormant,
as the pool will soon do as well.