So let me tell you something of his history. So far little is known. Only that Pond Man prefers to work with his hands and he has made his living that way. Only that he remains a rumour to many even in the town where he lives, although you will see him most days leaving his oast house; and you will recognise his blue flat cap — cotton gabardine — and his muffler -- navy blue wool to match. (There is no reason why a working man cannot be smart, and Pond Man nods his head).
Only that he is known for what he has done rather than who he is. Only that he converses rarely but he is known to speak to the Old Man, his father in Heaven.
Only that he has become a symbol to those who do not know him. But how many of us travel as symbols through life. And then, if you do, where do you hang yourself? Every symbol must have a hanging place.
Pond Man keeps his cap in the kitchen, on a hook on the kitchen door. ‘On’ is an important word, it is a location; and it is the beginning of movement, the beginning of ritual. Pond Man plucking his cap from the hook — the shape of a small ‘u’, the shape of his smile as he picks up the circle of cloth with its firm beak and pulls it over his eyes — his blue horizon.