One summer day, I was on the road up in northern Vermont. My self-imposed mission, that bright morn, was to see two ponds –Big and Little Averill. I had read about both, yet had never laid eyes on either. I needed to fix that.
Locating Big Averill turned out to be easy; it sat quietly in sight of the road. A pretty pond, for sure. Little Averill took more effort. But eventually I made my way there, and I was glad I did. Little Averill proved to be a pearl.
I got out my camera; I had my Nikon F100 with me, the nicest film SLR I ever owned. With a 20 mm lens, I knelt on Little Averill’s shoreline. Through the viewfinder I framed the water’s edge and the far off mountains. Wow, it was beautiful. “Click” After taking the picture, I looked over the top of the camera, and stared down the pond’s tranquil expanse. The surrounding warmth of a summer day. The hyaline waters. The silent forest. The clouds climbing the green hills. A sense of perfection hung in the air. And for that instant, time disappeared.