Pond Day

My butt is cold.

I'm sitting on a slab of Nature, and my butt is cold. And I'm getting a headache because there is a noisy, not-nature like man across the pond. He's roaring and biting Nature's flesh with his metallic teeth. He says he's trying, no helping make Nature more beautiful.

I look into Nature's eyes, which is the pond you see. I can't tell what color it is though. It's a rainbow of sludge. That makes me sad, because Nature's eyes should be blue and not the color of that noisy thing across the pond.

My own eyes don't necessarily look at the shambles of Nature around me, but rather, they look off way into the distance. Near the mountains, and the trees, and the untouchable sky. I like to think that place is quiet. I like to think I would see an ocean of blue eyes there. I like to think that's what Nature is like.

We're at the pond but all I see is soot and filth. Even the ducks look like they want to leave. They're crying for those blue-eyes, they're crying for silence. Too bad the noisy man can't speak duck and too bad he loves the color sludge. But I hear you little duck, and I'm sure your mother, who is Nature, is worried. But you say it is okay because Nature needs to worry about herself for once and stop giving her blue eyes away for free.

Maybe Nature should start taxing for her murder.


Happy Sunday.