By Berta Winiker

And then there was North Pond in Savoy, close to the Florida town line.

A young boy, maybe six, punctuating the stillness and squealing as he reeled in tiny sunfish, one after another. He wasn’t new to fishing, each fish was simply new to him.

I wasn’t new to kayaking, this pond was simply new to me.

At first glance, a smallish and unremarkable pond with a stream spilling out on one end. A starting point for exploring.

Two beaver lodges, in close proximity to each other. Competing business interests or a collaboration?

In no time, an embarrassment of riches and novelties. If I were only an artist, circumnavigating this bounty, eyeing subject matter, retiring to my easel, en plein air.

Oils would be an appropriate choice for the density of dromedary humps that boulder through the surface, familiarly and connected. Flecked, solid and saturated.

Pastels would seemingly suffice for the mass of porcupine quill grasses. A rather simple enough and monochromatic assembly of vegetation. A very pleasant rustle against the solid kayak.

Ink would likely do justice to a very delicate spread of grasses resembling miniature nonpareils. Intricate brush strokes required here for these lillipution pincushions. Artistic license always an option, perhaps resize these for ease of display?

A mat of common four-petalled butter yellow flowers could be rendered in either pastel or watercolors. Give equal attention to the sweet cheer of the fresh, translucent green leaves.

Multiple choice in the confusion of clouds, coming and going. Watercolor one minute, a shift to oils in the next. What happens when oil and water are mixed? Can you mix media on one canvas?

I beg off here. I am simply passing through with my camera eye, my delight in discovering new flora and fauna.

I leave the heavy lifting to the one wielding the paintbrush. I have painted the day with words, and that is more my medium.