Walking as quietly as I can, I pass the outcropping of granite and the hedgerow of maple saplings. Cresting the rocky slope, the bleached arms of the fir snag and the top of cattails are my first view of the spring fed pond. Silence is everything now. The dragonflies, iridescent orange and blue, spiral down to the water’s surface and meet with frogs. They have not yet detected the sound or vibration of my steps on the grassy bank. Whir, croak, whir, croak, sharing the same private world.
