Black Tarn

Black water fills a round hollow in the forest, mirror-still and perfectly dark. Pale birches ring the shore. Their white trunks hang doubled upside down in the surface. Between trees and water lies quaking sphagnum, gold and green, too soft to bear weight. An old boardwalk of grey planks crosses the bog on short posts, sagging in places, and ends at a small jetty jutting over the water with one tall post at its tip. No boat is moored anywhere. Sedge tufts stand in the shallows, and a chill rises off the water even in high summer. In one corner a fallen birch lies half-sunk and choked with weed. On the shore, a flat stone holds a few crusts and a knot of red thread. Mist gathers low on the tarn as the sky cools to violet, and the far bank fades into it. Peat stains every edge brown.