williams pond

April, 1865

The man knocked twice.
His soul was saturated, steeped in salt air. A strong northeast wind played with the strands of hair that hung down from his woolen cap. A muscular work horse stared at him indifferently from behind a rough fence, blinking. The man saw the little jewels of mist that had collected on the horse's long black lashes. He noted this carefully. The muffled sound of rolling surf reached him through the cusp of gnarled pitch pine and oak. He had just stumbled up through the dunes, these stunted trees, and found this swaybacked clapboarded house nestled up against a blue pond trouble by the wind.
The door creaked open.
"Stranger," said the man behind the door. A fire glowed in there among the neat mortared brick. The stranger heard the crackling wood, smelled the incense of honey locust, and felt a deep longing.
"Might I find a bit of refuge?" the stranger asked.
"It appears you're in need my friend," the grizzled man replied kindly.
The stranger entered, shoulders hunched. He reached out a civilized hand.
"Thoreau," he said.