Styx

On first view one misses much of the lower pond. Turn away from the sunny embankment posted yesterday. Turn, and the pond opens to a shadowed recess where the eastern wall of the ravine had been.

A pond like this is never completely still. There's always some little thing bubbling up to the surface, a branch cracking, a wood duck gliding out of view behind tree stumps, a breeze on the water that can't be felt. Somewhere in back of this picture the pond spills into a rut beside the old road, then crosses where the road has washed away, passes a clearing where old mattresses and a broken multimedia hutch crumble and rot, tumbles over rock and broken culverts until it again finds a fit stream bed, and heads off toward Thomaston.