(For this assignment, we walked outside and were asked to journal about a specific place we found on the grounds, it was essentially an outdoor free-write.)
Behind me, the hum of power and sweat of asphalt, the griding noise of stones crushed underfoot and a car passing by. As I let my eyes unfocus and let me ears adjust I hear more - I hear crickets, the click of a dog's fingernails on stone, the brief rustle of leaves or snap of a dry twig. As I lift my notebook to write, a small cricket leaps off the page that he temporarily inhabited. When my eyes adjust to the symphony of green, it allows me to see yet more colors. A yellow goldenrod flower, a flash of red on a berry. An orange leaf, turning a little before its brothers. A deep red from the sumac, and a pale yellow leaves of a hop hornbeam.
I catch myself defining, categorizing, so I stop to breathe.
I adjust to the stillness, and I can see the motion. Leaves shivering gently in a breeze I am barely aware of. Grass springing back up where I once laid my hand. Bugs foraging climbing jungles of grass and mountains of stone. Doves fly overhead casually, as if nothing is new to them. Unseen, worms move earth and trees grow and bend. Leaves open, leaves color, leaves fall; constantly renewing. A leaf sinks to the ground and allows me to see all the others above. Silhouettes of tree branches frame my words on a page. More not seeing allows me to see tiny pale yellow flowers, and the perfections of a curled leaf.
I see death which allows me to observe life. An insect buzzes with the same indifference to my presence as the dove, and visits each yellow flower, repeating the same functions at each. A chipmunk reveals himself and hesitantly beings a a journey divided into three foot bursts. A dragonfly circles swiftly with intent but his purpose is not something I can know...