Tonight, the reflecting pool holds the moon in iridescent embrace. Not even the breezes that ripple her surface can disturb their resplendent union.

    I almost missed this white stone pool on the way back to our cabin, but you pulled me over, quoting our favorite poem about the moon. Now as we lean over, we too are caught in her luminous mirror, wearing twin expressions of wonder and bemusement.

    She has brimmed to the top of the square ledge that holds her, and remains there, tremulous, as if any minute she will breach her confines. We stand silently, holding hands, surrounded by deep woods and whispering pines, staring at our shimmering portraits.

    She will be here long after our images recede. Over days, weeks, and years, people like us will pass by, some without noticing, others dropping coins that wobble and sink into the invisibility of her dark, cool, depths.

    In the morning, she will capture the sun as it rises over the horizon. She will gather trees, clouds and sky through the day to fill her ever-changing canvas. And, oh so briefly, she will imprint on her glassine surface, the upcurving trails of birds in flight.

    When it rains she will shake off her containments. Hundreds of drops will stipple her fluid skin, bouncing and playing over her surface. They will fill her to capacity, until she spills her bounty over the ledge and courses down the grass path, sluicing the stepping stones, drenching the flowerbeds, joyfully turning earth to mud.

   But tonight she is calm, as she displays her latest treasures – the moon, and our faces, dazed with happiness.  Our arms are around each other, our eyes are filled with poetry, our expressions bespeak our souls’ deep confluence. In her mirror, she has betrothed us, each to the other, in the presence of the overhanging moon. She suspends our images within the eternity of the moment with a beneficence that will not be understood until many years later, by one who yet retains the memory of that night, the pool, and our moon-blessed love.  

(excerpt from “Whitegate,” published by Liz M. Weiman © 2000)