She had been sitting still for quite sometime. It felt good to be still, to turn languid. ‘I am becoming languid’, she said out loud, because you have to say things out loud sometimes for anything to turn real. Any writer knows this, and any artist too. Declarations are part of knowing who you are — the tried and tested, the withdrawn, all those vigorous promises scraped back between your teeth, grimaced, spat out — and Dorothy had been declaring for sometime — to herself, to the chirruping birds —that she would take a pause, a break from life. ‘I must take a break, I must pause.’ She had paused, lain out, run her hand through the water, turned languid.

She had been sitting still for such a while she had practically become a monument. ‘I have practically become a monument.’ Patience herself with her hands folded on her lap. The world was turning around her, but she remained still. Outside her gate the rest of the world continued pell-mell. People called and Henry turned them away. They wanted signatures, they wanted her attendance, they wanted her to donate something — that large urn, said Henry, looking meekly at her — she waved him away. She did not mind about things anymore. An urn was an urn was an urn. ‘A still unravish’d bride of quietness, A foster-child of silence and slow time’, this is what she wanted: why not? She smiled slowly, her lips lifted gently, she turned herself over. It was time to contemplate what any of it meant — this house, this garden, that brick wall, the metal gate —- those lions. Why on earth did they have lions beckoning them in? Surly beasts, so loud, Dorothy thought. We must take them down, donate, Henry can give them away.

She went to investigate. Really they are so silly, so showy, what on earth were we thinking? ‘Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard are sweeter.’ Their faces were frozen mid-roar. Whoever thought that was a good idea - mid-roar --it must hurt their jaw. She lifted her hand to pet the first beast. He turned his head and opened his jaw. So rude to speak without being spoken to — a little Lord Fauntleroy — and she petted his head and closed his mouth gently with her two hands. Perhaps she could teach him better manners. If she taught one the other would follow. A well mannered lion at her gate, two well-mannered lions lifting their paws to greet, to turn away whomsoever she wanted. Two stone butlers with long arching manes — why not, why not — and she padded back to her chair.

(from POND LIFE: NOVEL FORMS OF LIVING: a work in progress).