I have been “kidnapped”, or so it seems. let’s just say I have awoken in a new place,in a new home,you might say optimistically.It is a forest somewhere that I have never been. I have everything I need to make a home, then begin a plan to find out where I am and someone I can communicate with. First step-find water. Mark my way back to where I began, so I will at least have a “starting’ point. Hopefully the water will lead to civilization, where I can observe the people, the buildings, read signs, get some idea where I am. Where that first step leads me, who knows? My second step will have to consider what I have found out there.
Archive for nature studies
The sun was a ball of fire rising through the fog. Finally, the clatter of rain had turned to an autumn portrait of drying flood waters. We rode down the muddy path in our weathered farm wagon, bumping along, hooves clomping, with the wagon filled with produce for the market in town.
The chill in the air, the slush of mud, I pulled my shawl close around me. Then I saw the reflection of the wet green world upon the river. I realized that without both the sun and the rain, we would not be on our way to market.
Somewhere in the shadows of his dreams, the young man drifted in and out of the haze. Trees seemed to be every where, he looked around and everything looked the same. Here and there a branch would be different or a limb wold be broken off, but nothing in the real world went on and on without variation!
The, within his dream world, he thought of the ocean, how it went on and on, the waves crashing, the winds pounding, shells sprinkled about. There were a few things that went on and on without variety. But what did it mean? What was the purpose of this dreams.
Within the mist of dreamworld, he recalled what he had been thinking of as he went to sleep. What would I like to be when I am grown, what do I love? He thought of hikes he had been on, the whispers of the forest, the gentle breaks in its continuity. Its peace, the way it drew him back, time after time.
Suddenly, his eyes opened- “An OCEAN of trees!” the forest was like the ocean, simply a different entity. It went on and on, it was tranquil, yet mysterious. Forestry, that’s what it was, he would study forestry! Somewhere in that never ending topic, he would find himself. His eyes softly closed again.
Walking on the island shore at night always held a fascination for me, especially with my young teen. We would walk along, watching as the lights on shore glimmered off the amazing expanse of water all around is. It was one of those moments that needed no words, the feelings, the magic, spoke for itself.
He reached down and picked up something, turned to me, held it up and smiled. It was a whole conch con, shimmering in the starlight. Wow! I said, as we walked on. I will never forget that night. It is burnt into my soul. A tear runs down my cheek even now. It was the last night we ever spent on the beach together.
The river was out of its banks again. Muddy torrents rushed around the bend as they headed for the dam at the old water plant. Trees swayed at the edge of the water, looking as if they would topple in at any moment. She had walked down this trail so many times, it had been her “quiet place” as a teen. But not today, it held the roar of a restless spirit. She saw the old mill stone laying near the path. Beside it, something caught her eyes. A human skull, she thought, sucking in her breath. No! Not again!
Blue skies surround me
Clouds drift on the horizon
Drifting away at last
Every day is different
Fresh and exciting.
Gladly, I look for
Hovering bees and bugs
Ice melted at last.
Just one warm day
Keeps me hoping
Long after cold returns
Night times stars
Overhead-your head and mine.
Perhaps I treasure nature
Questioning it’s rhythms
Reining in its surprises
Turning from chill to warmth
Until I come upon the first
Violet, a sure sign of spring.
Wonder if other over it as much
X-citined as I am
You may know-tell me
Here in the lovely autumn of the Appalachians, the sun streamed through the abundance of multicolored leaves still clinging to the trees. It was a day when I was compelled to take that last walk, look at my marigolds and asters one more time. The were so beautiful, it seemed that they were at their very peak.
But, I had read the weather forecast in the newspaper. The first frost was expected tonight. In the morning, the ground would be white with the first ice of winter, flowers would have that dark color, death awaiting the sun’s first glimmer, and that being their last. Winter.
We wait at the school bus stop in the summer sun. The air conditioner is on high at 7:30 a.m. It just cannot be that summer is over. There is a dogwood tree that I watch, next to a wild aster. They are my calendar, my watching, waiting for fall to come.
One foggy day, the dogwoods leaves have a tinge of red, now the berries show their cardinal souls. The aster that has looked like an ugly weed all summer explodes into a wild white bush, excited, thankful bees all around. Relax, close your eyes, fall has come.