There is a vast pond deep among the rolling hills of the Franches Montagnes that feels like home. I didn't know that was the reason I was drawn to the place until two days ago when my nephew pointed out its Rocky feel. Spring has sprung there, and tiny tendrils of freshness are pushing up through snow on water creating the oddest, most intriguing textures I've seen in 6 long months.
medusa... spaghetti... eels... loch ness?
The grasses of summer past preserved in the bog-like waters of the pond. We shall swim among them yet!