I tell the pond a secret, and a new koi fish appears. I remember some of the confessions I shared with the pond, and I can even remember which secrets go with which koi for one or two of them with especially memorable markings.
Some of the secrets seem trivial now -- the kind of things that mortify adolescents and amuse adults.
Some of the secrets are just as embarrassing today -- little flaws and mistakes I hope no one notices.
Some of the secrets have gotten more shameful over time -- moral lapses I'd never make today, harsh words for kind friends, times when I hurt someone out of clumsiness I've learned my way past.
I went back there again today, and there were so many koi in the pond, far more than I ever remember. I don't know if someone else has found my confession-pool, or maybe the legitimate property owners added more fish, or maybe I've had more secrets over time that I had realized.
It's comforting to know that everything I ever was still remains, even if it's in piscine form.
And I always bring pieces of bread to throw to the fish. They get all excited when I come back. We remember each other.