The clouds cleared towards the end of the day and walking to Dyer Pond seemed like a good idea, so off Sven and I went through the woods.
Mushrooms poked their heads through the dead pine needles along the path, activated by Saturday’s rain. We encountered bike riders, pedestrians, and shellfisherwoman Barbara Austin, out with a friend, on horseback. Sven, of course, paused to chat. Dyer Pond was quiet and deserted, greener than in my memory. Last week we saw a very large puddle in the middle of the path, with a resident frog. The frog was still visible, frozen in the hope we had not noticed him. 
(What does it mean when a frog feels safer in a puddle, than in a pond?) The foliage beside the one house, on the northern rim of Dyer, had begun to turn, but the colors were not as vibrant as other years. We continued on to Great Pond where a low, dense cloud indicated mist at the "backshore," as is often the case in fall. The cloud, which hovered over Northeast Pond, dipped down, from time to time throwing wisps of mist at the treetops along the far shore. To the right, we could see a lone figure standing on the public beach. There’s a cabin on our side of the pond, with an outhouse, and Sven called me up to the deck because changes had been made since our last visit. “It’s interesting how good taste can transform such a small space,” he said, pointing at the furniture, painted light blue, his favorite color.
We were trespassing, it’s true, but I doubt the owner would mind our brief visit to admire how he had fixed up his summer residence. I peered through the window and had to agree with my husband.
A double bed, a braided rug, a simple bunk bed, all the color of the sky. The trim and chairs had also received a coat of light blue paint. On the mantelpiece, someone had placed a few pieces of blue porcelain. Minimalist, but homey, the interior design was evidence perhaps that the property had changed hands since I took this photo two summers ago. Where was the owner today? New York? Boston? Even further away, dreaming of Wellfleet? A canopy of low trees sheltered the wide deck with its perfect view of Great Pond, a deck ideal for meditation on what would have been my mother’s 100th birthday.
