Entry 4: Perspective and Predators

Wednesday, February 22, 2017
Temperature: 64 degrees
Partly cloudy skies.

I stand on a wooden pedestrian bridge. A river courses beneath my feet, and in the water swim too many fish to count. They glide and congregate close to where I stand. I go to the other side of the bridge, curious. Are there as many fish waiting on this side of the river? I see none. I return to my original spot and the same fish greet me. Why here, I wonder? Is the water deeper? The food selection better?

Behind me, two bikers zip across the bridge, rattling its wooden beams. The fish scatter out of my sight. I'm slightly annoyed at this intrusion, this sudden end to the fish party. But the day is too beautiful to stay irritated for long. I stand still and wait, listening to the river make that comforting gurgling sound as water passes over rocks. After a minute, three fish return.

They circle in the water, cautiously nearing the surface. And then, so quickly I almost miss it, a fish mouth breaks through the water. Fish lips open and greedily gobble a floating insect. Without wasting a second the fish darts back into the depths.

I study the fish. I wish I knew enough to identify this one. It's hard for me to get a complete view of them from this perspective, but they look similar in length and color, 4-6 inches and light brown. I'm more used to looking at fish, "eye to eye," in an aquarium or in a nature show. Looking from above is an entirely different feeling. It's like I'm a predator, quietly observing the fish's movement. It's a strange sensation.

And then I remember, I am a predator.  Though I mean these fish no harm, I've preyed upon fish in the past. I've caught fish by hook and line. Reeled them out of precious water only to release them a couple seconds later. I've never killed a fish, though I've eaten plenty. And I've liked the taste. I'm a predator alright.

I ponder this role I've been assigned and consider the responsibility, the power. It's not right for me to ignore or forget it. As I peer into the water, watching the fish swim, I wonder what I look like from above.

My perspective

Entry 3: Of Trees and Friendship

Wednesday, February 8, 2017
Temperature: 38 degrees
Skies cloudy and gray.

Usually, I run beside the stream, but today I sit.

The water is noisy as it pulses beneath a wooden bridge and out of my sight.  Years of erosion have worn away its muddy banks, exposing the roots of a sycamore and pine tree. I feel special seeing what's usually buried deep beneath the ground. It seems like a secret, one the trees trust me to keep.

The roots are curvy, knotted, and thick. Thicker than my forearm, thicker than my thigh. Pine and sycamore roots overlap and intertwine as they search for water and nutrients. Though woven together, their bark is distinct, and it's easy to trace root to the right tree. The gnarled bunch of roots captures discarded trash, an empty water bottle, metallic candy wrappers, and a styrofoam Cup of Noodles.

The trees are similar in height, though the sycamore beats the pine by a foot or two. I search their branches for signs of wildlife. Maybe a bird or even a squirrel? I see nothing. The tree's only company is one another.

How long have the sycamore and pine stood tall together along the stream's bank? Silent witnesses of the world that was. I try to imagine the trees decades younger, trunk the size of their thickest roots. Did they grow up together? Watch the seasons change their forest, as they grew tall and strong? How has this world changed in their lifetime? And how much more will it change before they're cut down or die?

The sycamore leans over the stream, like it wishes to catch its reflection in the water. As it stretches over the water and into the sky, it crowds the pine. Skeletal sycamore branches jut through verdant pine needles. Does the pine ever feel claustrophobic? It's rooted in place, eternally bound to the sycamore. Does it ever wish for privacy? Or maybe personal space isn't a concern nature shares with me.

The sycamore tree wraps a long branch around the pine, like an arm around a shoulder. A gesture of familiarity and friendship. And if not friendship, then what? Are they strangers? Indifferent neighbors?

No, I believe it's friendship.

Hushed and observant, trees would make for great listeners. I sit in silence and try to learn.