Visiting the site I veer off the trail toward my small stand of trees. Entering this area I drop down to lean against the fallen log that has long since lost all of its bark. Settling down I sit and take in the area as I wait for it to settle back into a rhythm after my arrival. As the forest begins to accept my presence the bird songs pick up and the squirrels and chipmunks resume their daily business.  From this position I can feel the slight dip down that in the distance I can see becoming a steep slope a hundred feet off. The ground beneath my coat is damp with the rain from yesterday and the whole area has a cold feel to it despite the 50 degree weather.

Since the last time I was visited my site the leaves on the trees have almost completely dropped off, those that have not  are turning brown. As I sat I saw and heard far less birds. There were a few more people on the trails and those who come through are easier to see as the foliage is mostly gone now.

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Caught at the Edges:

Walking through the forest the sound comes from the rustle of the leaves under your feet and the rasping of your breath

Pausing for a moment the silence hangs like walking into a room and having everyone stop talking just to look at you

But slowly, oh so slowly the noise begins again

The leaves from the trees above blow in the wind

Squirrel’s chatter and birds began to chip

A foreign city coming to life around you

A culture unknown with multitudes of languages being spoken

A hustle and life that you as a visitor just can’t quite grasp

 

The poetry of the earth is never dead

-John Keats

Photo of Forest credit to Brenna Christensen

Photo of Chipmunk Credit to

Author Pearson Scott Foresman

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