 
Along the northern shore of the pond was a giant oak tree, so gnarled with age, its roots weakened by erosion, that it bent itself over the pond, as if reaching its leaves into the refreshing waters of the pond to cool itself from the stifling, summer humidity; like an exhausted traveller in the midst of lying down for a well-deserved rest.  Tree Bows at Midnight I returned to the pond recently. The tree is gone now... cut down to make room for the boat dock than now sits in it's place. All that remains of the tree (except for the dock, of course) is the photograph above.
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