OldTroubador's blog post - On Muddy Pond

Parked at a loading dock in a small town western New Jersey town, I saw through the scrub trees a small pond. Actually, that description is generous, for nowhere was its depth more than a few inches. It served mainly as a storm water collection site. Algae and water moss grew plentifully in the muddy water with a few clumps of grass growing here and there. The side facing me was edged with small trees whose type I could not determine while maples, oaks, and pines ringed the rest of the pond.
Except for the flora, I thought the pond sterile and devoid of life, at first. Then I noticed a turtle, its shell exposed in the shallow water, plodding along. Its head was down in the water, feasting on all the greenery the pond provided. Occasionally, the terrapin would lift its head, greens hanging from its mouth, much like a child forking in too much spaghetti. As soon as that mouthful was slurped down, at a turtle’s pace of course, it would again bury its head into nature’s salad bar. It continued this way the whole time I watched, leaving behind it a path cleared of the plant life it found so tasty.
A quick movement on the opposing bank caught my eye. A frog was hopping across the mud flat. Soon, two or three others joined it. I watched as they eased into the water, then swam sedately to stake out places of ambush. When they paused, the water barely covered their feet and rumps. Soon, other frogs revealed themselves to me as they made towering acrobatic leaps to snare flying morsels for their breakfast. They would fall back into the water with a splash, then ease their way back to the launch pad, soon to repeat their gymnastic dining. Occasionally, one would vocalize, almost as if to brag on its exploits.
The space above the water too had come to life. Dozens, if not hundreds, of dragonflies flitted hither and yon. The easiest to spot were those whose abdomens were a powder blue, so light in color as to appear white. Other species were there too, some rust brown, others black, all about three or four inches long. The first to arrive had commandeered hunting areas of a few cubic feet in extant. As others arrived, they tried to encroach and poach in property already claimed; they were chased off by the claimants, which carried them into the territory of others. Soon, swarms of dragonflies were chasing each other across the pond, while others soon arrived to take up the abandoned parcels. Everything would settle down, until the dragonflies returned to their original positions, only to find their “property” usurped. The result was another furball across the face of the pond.
In the brush directly in front of me, pairs of goldfinches had awakened. They would rocket out of the branches, the males brilliant as their bright yellow bodies caught the sun, the females more drab. They would go off, presumably to find seeds, then come back to their perches, the partners then off on their own quest. In the tall trees across the way, blue jays were chasing each other through the branches like fighter planes, twisting and weaving, all the while screeching avian obscenities at each other. Other birds, unidentifiable to me, also hopped and darted amongst the branches, their songs a counterpoint to the rumble of traffic in the background.
And through it all, the turtle plodded placidly through the mud, happily vacuuming up the plant life, unconcerned with the cacophony and chaos that surrounded him.