LACE BUD
Beneath interlaced branches, the trees breathe a cooling balm as I walk down into the ravines. The chaos of la-la land abates. I’ll take any bit of access to the natural world I can get, especially these days. On all levels, I need it.
There are ideas, the beginning grassroots and formation of whatever group, the push to get grants, donations, funding. All of which is highly competitive. It grows a bit and then a little more, depending on various circumstances. Many fail. Once it gets to a point of receiving enough “attention” and “interest”, it will inevitably become co-opted and used to facilitate other plans. Also, there is the in-fighting, the “me-me-me’s”, that go on and on in a mindless chattering litany. Those daring to be too different from the group in their ideas and thoughts are shamed into adopting group mentality to enough of a degree to survive within it. If they do not do this, they are pushed out of the group.
Thoughts like this go through my mind every time I go to a certain area of the ravines. It is land and people that have been treated in the manner I’ve described above. I watched it all happen over a period of years because it was a project I was interested in becoming involved with. It’s very noticeable once something becomes appropriated. This occurred before an opportunity for me to become involved came up.
As I walked by that area in the ravines, I felt gratitude that I never became involved with anything there. It’s one less repeat experience of the same old, same old.
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Off the main beaten paths I go, as soon as possible to reach one of the spots I have mapped in my mind. It’s a short walk down to the creek from there, then along to two large rocks on one side. They are positioned like a leaning back chair. Both are rounded and smooth. It’s a natural seating area where I can use another small rock as a footrest, or soak my feet in the creek flowing by.
I hear the sound of the water washing along, up, over and around the rocks. The trees canopy overhead, while the sun spots patches to light up. It’s quiet. The city is muted, with only the occasional sound of others walking the main paths and the cicadas' click-click-click buzzing song. Relaxing into such moments is the most delicious experience.
Across the creek, up higher, is a huge ash tree. The sun had lit it up with what looked like over a hundred pinpoints of light. I watched it dance in the wind and light. Ash leaves are darker green; but in the light at that time of day, they looked bright green, lighter green, yellow, and highlighted with brilliant white dots of lights. What a gift to be there in that moment to see this.
∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞
For years now, I get these looks from people I know when I point out the texture of a flower, the way water looks, a leaf, things I find on the ground that others consider garbage and so on. There’s this distinctive impression that they think I’m strange for seeing the world this way. I think they are missing out, which is the whole point of my sharing with them. There’s an openness that is necessary and a willingness to be present in the moment.
I’d done a seven hour exploration. On the way back I’d turned off to the creek, went down to it for the spot I like to sit. Crisscrossing back and forth, I lost my balance, kissed several rocks with my body as I fell in, and then popped back up again half wet. I was grateful my camera wasn’t taken on that day. It would have met with water.
Always under surveillance. It never ends. Why does everything have to be shoved into some kind of conformity? The natural world knows its way. Nature doesn’t need human interference to force it into anything.
Someone wants my attention. I was going to walk by without looking but there was an instance that I go to the tree, so I do. It’s a young hawk. I should have known. I watch them all the time and know where several hang out in parts of the city. I’ve never heard their calls due to the city noise.
I’m thinking, you called me to you and now you won’t stay put for a few seconds so I can get decent shot. We danced a little more like that until it took flight from the tree, swooped around and headed north. I thought, I see, it’s a message delivery, not a photo opportunity. Message received. I move on.
Watching food going to waste never sits well with me, especially when I’m acutely aware of how many people in the city live on the street with limited access to food (most of which is unhealthy food), not to mention all those barely scraping by, cemented in poverty.
I’m not as pretty or acceptable as they are. They see that and then try to doormat me. I’m having none of it. I haven’t been able to go that market for almost two years. Those making the calls on rules have made it impossible for me to go buy food there now.
This is now “normal”.
How long before I can’t buy food at all?
I know this is coming.
This is what people want.
They support it with their behaviour and choices.
So be it.
