The surface of the pond was unbroken, perfectly still, as though it had fallen asleep. Yet every once in a while, something underneath (a turtle or muskrat?) would rustle the water and concentric ripples would spread throughout the watery plane. Along the shoreline, dragonflies flitted without sound over the reeds. There was no other movement, no breeze even to tease the grasses.
Excerpted from A Transcendental Journey
