“Ripples in the Pond” is a very short story by Karen Susanto, 13. The story is divided into two sequences. The first sequence is written in the second person and describes the forest—a beautiful, serene space full of animals and trees. The writing is full of vivid, tangible descriptions. The “you” in the story seems to be a human, and they go to the forest because it makes them feel “alive.” At the end of the first section, the writer foreshadows the fox who will later become the focus of the story.
The second section of the story is written in the third person. The writer describes a fox peacefully drinking water from a pond in the forest. Suddenly, malicious humans throw a rock at the fox. The fox narrowly avoids being struck and retreats into the forest as the humans run away, laughing mockingly.
How does this writer paint a picture with words?
“Ripples in the Pond” is chock-full of images that make every aspect of the forest feel alive and present. Almost as soon as the story starts, the writer brings the forest to life with vivid descriptions that incorporate the five senses.
The forest had always been peaceful.
The forest was where you would stand still and feel the earth beneath your feet. It was where you would inhale the sweet forest air that was full of the invigorating scent of tree bark and green leaves and fresh earth. The forest had that unmistakable feel of authenticity: it made you feel alive.
The first sentence in this sequence is relatively abstract. By abstract, I mean that it is hard to picture, or that if two people both tried to picture it, they might imagine completely different things. A peaceful forest might look like a few acres of solitary pine trees on the top of a mountain, or else a bustling rainforest full of many creatures living in harmony with one another. To know for sure, we need some more concrete details. Luckily, the writer provides some right away.
We start with the sense of touch—“you stand still and feel the earth beneath your feet.” Then, we move to taste with “sweet forest air” and smell with “the invigorating scent of tree bark.” Finally, we get sight, with “green leaves.” All of these sensory details help the reader to better imagine the forest.
But my favorite part of this sequence is the final sentence, when the writer says, “The forest had that unmistakable feel of authenticity—it made you feel alive.” Up until now, the writer has been using physical senses. But even though they are paired with the word “feel,” authenticity and aliveness aren’t things someone can actually touch. Instead, the writer is describing an emotion—one produced by the forest.
This is such an important moment in the story! Why pair it with so much detail? Well, imagine if the writer hadn’t. What if instead, we just kept the two most abstract sentences?
The forest had always been peaceful. The forest had that unmistakable feel of authenticity—it made you feel alive.
It loses its power, doesn’t it? The thing is, any number of things could cause a forest to feel authentic, and all kinds of things in a forest could make someone feel alive. Awash in the possibilities, the reader may not ever see what the writer wants them to. By pairing abstract moments with concrete details, it is clear to the reader that it is the foret’s sweet air, its tree bark and fresh earth, that is so enlivening for the story’s “you.” Concrete details—things that can be described with the five senses—help bring abstract moments to life.
Another interesting thing about this story is that after that first section, the piece gets a lot less abstract and reflective. Instead, it is purely descriptive: we hear human footsteps and laughter in the forest, the “(Thud, whiz—)” of a thrown rock. By using precise, sensory details and keeping analysis to a minimum within the narrative, the piece is able to subtly yet effectively convey a more abstract message about the harmful impact of humans on the natural world.
Discussion questions:
- Why do you think the writer chose to put the first part of the story in second person?
- Why do you think the writer mostly chooses to avoid point of view in the second half of the story?
Ripples in the Pond
The forest had always been peaceful.
The forest was where you would stand still and feel the earth beneath your feet. It was where you would inhale the sweet forest air that was full of the invigorating scent of tree bark and green leaves and fresh earth. The forest had that unmistakable feel of authenticity: it made you feel alive.
It was where you would hear the gentle cooing of birds from their perches in the trees, where you would hear the crackle of leaves and the occasional sound of a single leaf softly falling from its branch. You would hear the mellifluous echo of the flowing river as the water coursed smoothly down, making small white waves.
You would see fluffy little rabbits hopping to and fro, and you would see busy squirrels scampering up the sturdy trunks of leafy oaks. You would see birds with wings outstretched circling high above the topmost branches of tall pines. You would see wood ducks splashing through the river and turtles basking on the rocks beside it. And if you went deeper in, you would see the small circular pond, sheltered by slender white birches, reflecting its surroundings in the clear, unbroken mirror of its water. You might even glimpse the antlers of a stag. Or you might see a bushy red tail just before its owner scrambled off into the depths of the woods . . .
* * *
A thirsty fox makes his way toward the pond for a drink of water. The soft flutter of wings as a wood thrush hurriedly takes flight reaches his ears, and he looks up, flicking his tail. Seeing the rustling of bushes as two rabbits scamper out of his way, he pauses a moment, then turns and resumes his way.
(Swish, crackle, flutter)
Loping through the tangled undergrowth that carpets the floor of the forest, the fox reaches the pond, where he crouches and drinks thirstily. The water shifts and ripples, creating a distorted image of the fox. A moment later, he tenses and leaps up, ears twitching upright, alert black eyes soundlessly darting back and forth among the trees.
(Crack, scrape, snap)
Human footsteps: crushing leaves, snapping twigs. Human voices: shrill laughter, giggling, whispering.
(Thud, whiz—)
The fox throws himself to one side just as a smooth stone cuts sharply through the air in a high arc. It passes directly above the spot the fox has just vacated and splashes, hissing and singing, into the center of the smooth, glass-like surface of the pond. The surface shatters and the stone disappears.
The fox, as silent and unmoving as the trees, gazes fixedly into the dense woods.
(Ripples . . .)
The human forms saunter away, leaving behind them harsh, echoing laughter that rings mockingly in his ears. Their dark shadows are momentarily reflected in his eyes, and the eyes darken, growing blacker than ever, before he turns away.
Rancho Palos Verdes, CA
Glen Ridge, NJ
