On Worlud Pond

On Worlud Pond
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Underneath It All

ON WORLUD POND

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SARAH AND ME
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What, you thought you'd find that Madonna? The Material Girl?

Fortunately, I've never been mistaken for the celebrity. I'm a few years older. Okay, more than a few years. And I never wear a metal bra. In Florida's heat and humidity?

Because of our name association, we do share space on search engines. You'll find my writing credits interspersed with her music, books, and offers to enter the bawdy side of life. Due to her lifestyle, my book, Swinging Sisters, has popped up on porn sites. Anyone buying my book from those sites is in for a surprise. The subject of Swinging Sisters is far removed from what it might suggest.

So, you're wondering about Worlud Pond. Or maybe not. At any rate, here's the deal: My husband and I live in a house with a pond in the backyard, a nameless pond. Our young granddaughter, Grace, used to pronounce the word "world" as worlud. In her honor, we call our view Worlud Pond.

When asked how to get to Worlud Pond, Grace explained, "Oh, you just go to Africa and turn left and then park and there you are." She and her sister, Sarah, were born in Pretoria, South Africa. They have no memory of their time there, but Grace talks about it as if she does. 

The pond is ever-changing, the water mercurial in texture, color, form, and movement. We've seen rainbows arch the width; spectacular sunrises in a watercolor wash of pink and lavender and orange, full amber moons that glow like lanterns; twilight's palette of a half dozen shades of green that Crayola hasn't yet named; the rushes and reeds shrouded in a scrim of velvet fog; easy rain dimple the water; brisk wind churn the current into frenzied ripples; dappled sunshine creating a cracked ice effect; leaping fish break the placid surface; fairies dancing at dawn on mist-shrouded lily pads; a bale of thirty-some turtles swimming in early morning; swarms of dragonflies skimming the banks, and a great blue heron, as still as a watercolor painting, a ghostly sentinel in the marsh, its beak poised like a spear, waiting.... 

Our large gator, Snappy, is gone now; he grew to twelve feet and had to be relocated. But we have a young gator, whom Grace discovered on a visit here and named Flower Linnet (Linnet is G's middle name). Flower was just a baby then, but she's now about three feet and glides by daily or comes ashore to take the sun. Lethargic turtles doze nearby and birds saunter around undaunted by the reptillian presence. Commencing in May and running through October, a hallelujah frog chorus shatters the night from about ten p.m. until one a.m. It's like nothing I've heard before and I've not found words to describe the sound; you must hear it to believe it.  

The bird list so far includes: great blue heron, lesser heron, night heron (my favorite), Tri-colored Louisiana heron (the ghost heron), white egret, ibis, limpkin, gallinule, Florida mallard, whistling wood duck, anhinga, wood stork, sandhill crane, eagle, buzzard, turkey buzzard, hoot owl, Mister Nasty (a grizzled great blue heron), an impressive tawny red-shouldered hawk, an osprey, and a roseate spoonbill. An otter visits occasionally, and we've seen a mother bobcat and two kittens. 

If you find yourself here at Worlud Pond, please stroll around. It's a peaceful place. Don't get too close to the edge, however.

Look for me on Facebook, Madonna Dries Christensen Books, 
and on this site: http://www.rabmad.com/authors/madonna-dries-christensen

ALL WORK ON THIS SITE COPYRIGHT MADONNA DRIES CHRISTENSEN Contact: Iowagirl1@aol.com

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GRACE AT AGE FOUR
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FLOWER LINNET GATOR
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SNAPPY
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SANDHILL CRANES
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MOON OVER POND
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STORM OVER POND
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IN THE GLOAMING
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