My Woods

Monday, September 7, 6:40 p.m. - Walking into the woods is almost cinematic.  An entrance, as if a giant door once stood here, is surrounded by trees and their hanging branches of brown and yellow leaves.  Across the muddy trail a daddy long-leg spider scurries, while a tiny frog hops deeper into the brush away from the dangerous trail.  The trees closest to the trail are marked or painted with red arrows pointing towards the direction I am already walking.  Down the path, I find a tree that has done its time standing tall.  The tree is now a log; it becomes my seat.

The log is thick and spotted with soft, green moss.  I set a folder on the rain soaked log to keep dry.  As I sit thinking of what to write, a yellow leaf catches my eye as it floats to the soggy ground to join the growth of death.  It makes a sound, like a small paperclip falling onto a pile of paper on the floor.  I am reminded of a question, "Does a falling tree make a sound if no one is around to hear it?"  I've read that the answer is no and that the tree only makes sound waves, not sound.  For sound to exist, an instrument such as an ear must be a part of the equation.  This whole debate reminds me of Pattiann Rogers and her idea that Nature encompasses all contradictions.

Before I go too far off, I refocus on my surroundings.  I am tucked back in the little bit of woods still remaining in my neighborhood.  I'm actually surprised this is even still here.  More homes and mini-strip malls are taking over the trees and trails these days.  I can remember when I was nine or ten years old, and my friends and I owned these parts.  We lived and got lost here.  The constant humming and chirping of insects and birds is calming.  It almost drowns out the motors from the highway.  Talks of extinction usually focus on animals, but is there a time when the woods will cease to exist?  Technology seems to move children, today, where as not so long ago we would hop on our bikes and cruise the woods for edible berries or small creeks where the crawfish just couldn't hide from us.

I am surrounded by trees, but as winter draws closer this weak and dying canopy lets in the dull sky.  There are no clouds but a hint of more rain is in the air.  The population around me sounds extremely busy, yet I've only seen nose-diving leaves.  I bite my tongue.  A beautiful, bright-red bird lands for a moment as if to tell me to look harder.  Through a few vines, which are hanging desperately to a lowercase r-shaped tree, the bird bounces among the branches before flying deeper into the trees.

Before the heavy rain kicks in, I decide to leave.  I stand up to see that I have had a friend for an unknown amount of time.  A black and white caterpillar scoots across my folder.  It stops its unique gyrations when I move to pick up the folder.  I lean the folder at an angle so that the furry creature with furry black and white horns can move back to the moist wood.  It takes full advantage of my kindness and worms its way back onto nature.

The walk out seems tougher than the walk in.  I stumble over anaconda looking vines that slither across the path; I walk against the red arrows, out of the woods and into a light fog.  I rejoin the cookie-cut houses of civilization.