Observations of Nature


Observations of Nature
By: Lydia Bagamery
Age 16

The air is moist and refreshing on my skin, heavy with the foreboding of rain. I look and see the clouds, painted in the vast canvas of the sky. Dotting the sky are sparrows and chickadees, darting to and fro. Perhaps they are playing a game of chase, or searching for delectable worms to bring back to their hatchlings. I see man’s imitation of the bird flying higher than they, polluting the canvas with its toxic exhaust. I start to feel the heat of the fiery disk as it rises in the sky.
The river of time keeps flowing.
I hear nature’s song, issuing from the bugs in the grass and birds in the trees. I feel the tangled woods, dark and mysterious, beckoning to me. I hear the animals retreating to the undergrowth upon sensing my presence. The tall weeds brush against my legs as I observe and contemplate the ancient pines. One calls out to me in particular. I look at its lofty boughs reaching towards the heavens. I touch the old tree’s bark, and feel it come away under my fingers. I notice a lizard, using the tree to hide from noisy humans like me. I realize this tree has seen and heard things I may never know. This dry and rotting pine has seen the doe and her youngling, and the she-bear and her cub; has heard the chittering of squirrels and birds, and the blast of a gun as one of the subjects of the forest is taken; and felt the rough beak of the woodpecker and a hurricane’s embrace. This dying tree has seen and heard more wisdom than I could ever hope to acquire in my short life.
The river of time keeps flowing.
I hear the frog’s song coming from the pond. I see the minnows darting in the aquatic forests of reeds and pond scum. I hear a splash as a small bass breaches the water, ambushing its unsuspecting prey. I watch as life is taken to nourish other life. I look across the water at my peers and their reflections. I ponder who is truly the reflection and the caster of the reflection. What if the reflection considers itself to be the caster and the caster to be the reflection? How do I know that I myself am not a reflection? My attention is drawn to a bug as I startle it into jumping into the watery mirror. I watch it struggle, be ensnared by the weeds, and resign to its fate. Soon it will be dead. I realize we are not unlike that bug. Before we know it, life has passed us by and reached its end. It is then time to enter the waters of death. We fight and struggle against it, but in the end, we all must resign to our fate. The river of time keeps flowing, and it stops for no one!

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