Meditation 1

The sun and shade of a baby tree are fighting over who will be my cover.

Directly ahead is a neighborhood with scattered brick houses each with a respectable back yard. To the south a prison or castle, depending on your angle. To my east are trees and obstacles, no horizon. To the west are hills, right now covered in mostly a vibrant green. Though this is when I notice the splashes of orange, hints of yellow, and the occasional brown. My eyes always look to pavement and bricks; they fail to appreciate the signs of fall. Until now.

The lawns across the river are perfectly mowed. Striped dark green, light green, dark green, light green. The roar of the lawn mower provides the lower octave in harmony with the sparrows. Flower beds sprinkled with pink and purple, Kroger-bought flowers.

The river sits still waiting for the fall of rain to push it through Lexington toward Buena Vista. This came sooner than expected. The river sits still. I sit still. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing worth recording.

Yet, in the midst of its stillness, a turtle doggy-paddles through the fallen leaves and algae. The turtle does not have sports practice at 4 PM and dinner formation at 7 PM. It just has a river and amphibious abilities.

After I lost the turtle, there were new ripples in the calmness. A sign of movement and life even passed what I see. There is a possibility of chaos. I ponder whether it is tragedy for the prey or satisfaction for the predator. Am I cheering for the underdog or the powerhouse? The deer or the wolf? Am I a hunter or a mountain?

A squirrel appears to test my grit. He grasps the wall nearly sideways, scaling the rocks. His spastic nature briefly makes eye contact with me. Perhaps I just became the observation and lost my role as observer. Or perhaps I am sitting in his seat. He seemed unfrighten yet skeptical. And we quickly moved on.

And then I notice the ants. The ants are crawling on my legs and shoe laces with curiosity and ignorance. They are forcing me to choose what kind of person I want to be. Am I nature lover or one of my peers? The hair-like legs dancing on my own tested my patience. I was a nature lover for about 10 seconds and then I succumbed to the pressures of its maintenance.

As I sit, shaking off the ants, tracking the turtle, overlooking the mysterious river, embracing the motley colors of the hills, I try to reconnect. I imagine the grass un-mowed, the houses un-built, the trails un-paived with cobblestone. What is better: Nature or our manipulation of it? Would the river always sit still? Would the squirrel always radiate insecurity? Would the turtle be alone?

I want to know where we fit in, but first I must turn 10 seconds into minutes and into years.

The baby tree has lost to the sun, and now the sun competes with the hillcrest behind me.

Works Cited

Leopold, Aldo. A Sand County Almanac. “Thinking Like a Mountain.” Oxford

University Press, New York 1949. 129-133.