Acres of misty forest

Are suddenly disrupted

By mossy speckles of stone

That grow closer together and more numerous,

The deeper we travel into the dense woodlands… Miles of rocky marsh are crossed over and the trees dwindle away

before daylight reveals a paved path

leading right up the the lookout tower

of ClearWater Pond Fortress.

I’ve never knocked on the door, even once; I like to go around back, to the old pergola that leans like an old, drunk 

River Daddy should…

That’s my favorite place to sit and draw,

Listening to the Mollywogs croaking their

Cat-calls in the cattails,

And the crickets doing soundchecks

And me, feeling pretty blessed to be part of this creative atmosphere.

ClearWater Pond…

Is a Fortress, it’s true… where we are made

To feel happy, and strong.

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