Ice on the Pond
Ice covered the pond when last I went that way, and I halted to look about. A change in temperature can place things in time, and there was a picture on the ice, the crusted and frozen mud, the rime that covered all. The footprints in the mud told me that a horse had been to the water and the moorhens had gone scuttling along. The ice was hard, but there were signs that some creature, probably a sheep, had broken through when it was thin. The rime was disturbed here and there where small birds had hopped about, and there was one mysterious drop of blood. Round about, the reeds were lying under a heavy coat of frost. Bushes that overhung the water were frozen to the surface, and close under the bank there was a glassy patch of ice that told of a slight thaw and then a sudden fall in temperature. The spot of blood intrigued me, but there was no other clue about. It was as bright as the brightest berry in the hedge, and its significance on such a bitterly cold afternoon was saddening. In some thick bush somewhere round about a small bird was almost certainly about to die or had already huddled down and died.
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