Encroachers

It is impossible to believe the pond is dying.

The lilies are choking it, starving it of light and oxygen. Soon there will be no room left for fish or frog or snake or turtle. There will be only lilies, lilies from edge to edge, a marsh of lilies where nothing else can live. In summer the lilies bloom —oh, how beautifully the lilies bloom, how fragrant their flowers!—and even now, at the very end of autumn at the very end of the day, the lovely pond is filled with light, encircled and embraced. Leaves resting on the lily pads, hawk floating overhead, rabbit crouching under the tree—all life piled on life—and still it is dying.