A Little Talk with Nature
The green canopy seemed to have only one small entrance in. Leaves of all colors of green shapes and sizes hang about the area on the edge of the parking lot. The arched doorway beckons on to arrive in this forest that sits in the midst of much city pavement. The birds, chipmunks, and squirrels all announce their discontent at a new human visitor. Steps forward reveal the robins digging in the middle of the carefully blazed trail for yet another worm as the one that resides in his beak is not enough for his family’s meal.
The birds fly off but not far, lighting on branches to see if the moving visitor is really a threat or not. Content with the latter, they move back to the feeder for another mouthful or two of the birdseed there. Stay and watch or go on down the trail? What should the visitor do? Moving slowly down the path without much sound, the birds fly off, the chipmunks and squirrels clear the way all except the one robin. 
Maybe he is too greedy to fly off. At the last possible moment, he does leave to perch not feet away on the fence and as the visitor passes, lights back on the trail in search of the tasty treat that made him circle back.
This same fence keeps foot traffic away from a variety of wild flowers, ferns and other weed type plants. The starkness of the red poppy draws all eyes to it’s circled red petals and purple stamen center within. Smaller purple flowers dot the edges of another plant along the path announcing spring as well as the small miniature daisy petals that are so thin they look like white needles surrounding a yellow center. Large stands of blooming oak leaf hydrangeas bloom spikes of white flowers leaving green buds left to bloom another day.
Down the trail, the smell of honeysuckle is thick in the air. It is so strong that you can almost taste the honey it would make drizzled on toast for the morning. Twists and turns reveal more trees with thick luscious new spring leaves so thick the area is one umbrella of color after another. Newly stained, painted and posted blue bird houses peak out from the trail. Some of them have names painted in white on their faces just below the carefully measured hole for the bird to fly in. One that caught the visitor’s eye said, “Good Job, Steven!” signed by Mom, Dad & Lindsay. Everyone should hear those words said, regardless of the work they might do. This bird’s house is an exclamation, not just a house. Energy.
The trail switches back a time or two before the creek bed is revealed among the tall trees. The rocks along the water gather in a line, some of which are perfect for crossing without feet getting wet. Sandy banks line the creek also while the water rushes from one plateau and pouring into the other taking silt and leaves in its wake while leaving others to serve as filters of both light and water. A few steps to the left at the loud warning sound of a frog not seen until it moves back into the water. Two large black ants crawl from one side to the other almost oblivious of the red t-shirt and blue jeans that occupy the large rock that sits almost in the middle of the stream. In contrast there is a single red ant meandering its way through the sticks and brown petals of a bloom long dropped. The bite of each would be different as is true to their size, the black ant more a pinch and the red more a sting. An inchworm on the heel of the visitor’s shoe finds its way, with help, to the edge of this same rock. Will it make the plunge from shoe to rock? Yes.
An inch forward in translucent green, turning more brown with each movement to match its surroundings, the worm moves inward on the rock surface. Movement of its body matching more like the pounding of a hand or fingers trying to find their way. A pound in one direction and then the next before selecting the best choice and moving forward in the most meticulous manner of the bug kingdom. It is a small world within the realm of the creek within the realm of the park’s trail within the realm of the city. All this and the traffic outside this area is left unaware.
The silty water at the edge of a creek’s plateau receives new movement. Looking alive, a stick churns in the undercurrent of the moving water cloaked by the surface silt. It looks almost as if an earthworm or water worm is moving to the surface of the water poking its head out to see what might be in the air. Once, twice and a third time, the stick moves as if living reminding the visitor’s eye of a miniature version of what the Lock Ness monster might look like. The stick settles itself to rest with head up in stillness as if listening to the breeze that picks up flight.
In the deeper sections of where silt is less, a blue gray fish is startled with a splash and dives for darker water. The pond hoppers swim up stream unencumbered by the ruckus, some in groups with a straggler to be found here and there. Their bodies looking stripped with narrow yellow down the sides, giving further contrast to the long legs that seem to float on the top of the water. A quick look up and these worlds lend themselves to be placed on a page among black and white letters, phrases and words.
