Mother Nature’s Observatory

Third Place in Aristotle's Allegory Contest - September, 2008


Near mid-morning every day of summer vacation, I bound out of the kitchen door and, swinging my sandals by their heel straps, charge barefoot through the tickly grass up the sloped yard to the old dirt farm road.  The soft sandy soil of the roadbed feels satiny underfoot as it squishes up between my bare toes.

Spying some large, black dewberries peeking from under their leaves I am drawn to the road bank to sample a handful of the delicious juicy sweetness before continuing my trek up the hill between meadows of fragrant ripening timothy hay rippling with the light breeze.  As I climb the hill the scents of the myriad of wildflowers growing along the banks waft to my nostrils.

Nearing the apex of my climb my attention is captured by the lilting trill of a Meadowlark singing out his greeting to another beautiful summer day.  Searching over the area I spy its sleek yellow and brown body perched on a low branch, beak wide open while he serenades.  While listening, my gaze sweeps over the tree-dotted pasture dipping down to a creek bubbling through the valley below before climbing again to lush green wheat fields on the opposite hilltop. When the song ends and the performer flits away I turn away from the sunny fields toward the dappled shade of the road leading into the forest. 

A mass of honeysuckle draws my attention and I approach, ever alert to the possibility of the thick vines providing a cool midday hideout for the dangerous copperheads that abound in the area.  Pausing for a long moment to inhale the delightful fragrance, I then reach out, pluck a pistol from a flower and suck out the delicious nectar.  After enjoying a few more blossoms, I again move down the road.

The deepening shade feels good caressing my sun-warmed skin, while a slight breeze flutters the hem of my blouse and lifts my hair.

Approaching a faint path leading deeper into the woods, I slip on my sandals and follow its meandering way while watching the birds flit among the branches overhead and listening to the squirrels chattering their intolerance at my interruption of their activities.  Thinking of the Native hunters who undoubtedly stalked their prey through these very woods in the distant past, I struggle to soften my step.

Proud of my newfound stealth I glide through the trees like a shadow, watching the now-relaxed wildlife go about their daily routines totally unaware of my presence.  A careless step and a small twig snapped underfoot with a crack that sounds as loud as a rifle shot. Small animals scatter and my mind projects the image of an angry Native behind my eyes.  His accusing eyes admonish me for my carelessness.  How do you ever expect to track any game? He seems to be saying.  You make more noise than a herd of buffalo!

Properly admonished, if only in my mind, I again creep forward silently until I come to two giant boulders in the midst of the trees.  The two rounded chunks of granite touch near the bottom before sloping apart.  In my parents’ generation this landmark had been known as Kissing Rocks.

Removing my sandals, I carefully climb up one side, cross the middle dip and sit down on the flat moss-covered surface of the second stone.  Lying back with my arms crossed beneath my head I spend unknown hours listening to the rustling of small animals and the varied birds’ songs while watching the squirrels play in the branches overhead

Sometime later I slide off my granite perch and move on deeper into the woods to one of my very favorite places.  Rounding a hillside I am suddenly standing on top of a rocky cliff. A hundred feet below a doe and her still-spotted fawn browse amidst lush undergrowth beneath towering trees of every description.  Off to one side a litter of baby skunks trail their mother as she shows them where among the rotting branches to find their favorite delicacies. 

Sinking down onto the thick padding of velvety moss I lean back against the rough bark of a tree and watch the wonderfully wild bustle of activity that surrounds me.  Ever alert to the possibility of the black bear said to roam these woods or the poisonous snake slithering out of his shaded crevice as the heat of the day passes, I relish the parade of harmless wildlife I am privileged to observe.

When the sun moves beyond the treetops, I reluctantly rise, brush the leaves and twigs from my clothes and begin wending my way home.