The hillside crisscrossed with fallen pine branches, where the sunlight reveals here and there a patch of pastel-green grass, and faded stone steps, as if left by ancient people. The sound of a truck in the breeze just blowing past.
The pond takes it all in, gently wrinkled, smiling and cool, mysteriously cool and dark. It takes in everything calmly, like the soul of an old man, and as the sunlight grows harsh towards noon, it draws it only deeper into its secret, into its darkness.