Dyer Pond was still this afternoon when Sven and I walked over for a quick swim, trailing, down the access path, three teenage girls who immediately disrobed and entered the water, then stood chatting, stationary, during the rest of our brief stay. Three people sat at the water's edge, in beach chairs, intent on their books. I considered telling them about the second annual book sale at town hall tomorrow morning but decided they probably already knew about it.
While Sven swam out across the pond, I watched a father with three children frolicking in the water, warmer than usual according to my pinkies. A tot left the shallows with regret and was scooped up by her dad, who wrapped her in a towel, then offered his T-shirt as a dress so she would not have to walk home wearing a wet bathing suit. Sven stopped to chat with him as the man packed up, towels, beach chairs, paraphernalia. I looked back in climbing the bank and saw the little girl had succeeded in her quest for a ride home on her dad's strong shoulders. The scene reminded me of last summer when my granddaughter was here with her parents and that family, too, frolicked in the water. Sven enjoyed his swim and said the pond felt very familiar, although we had not been in many months. "The water is clear. It's private, a family pond," he concluded. Another day at Dyer Pond, perfect pond at this time of year.
