POND LIFE

On her birthday I drove us in the car to a garden somewhere on the way to Stroud.
When we got there he said, ‘go between the mushrooms and walk through the woods,’ is what we did and came out by two ponds linked by a short concrete bridge.
‘Look there’s a newt,’ I said pointing at the smaller of the ponds where a newt floated its legs outstretched and part of the ridge of its back showing above the surface of the water.
She came over, ‘I thought they were bigger than that.’
‘I’ve not seen one for years.’
Tadpoles swam close to the edge and goldfish glided through the water in groups around an immature lily plant at the centre of the pond.
We walked round to the larger pond and as we stood there she said, ‘I want something like this,’ touching an ear of a grass between us and the water, ‘see how coarse it is?’
I felt the ear between the tips of my fingers and thumb of my right hand and said, ‘it is coarse, isn’t it?’