About mid-May I had a major change occur to my daily routine. Whereas for three-quarters of a year I attended community college classes in the morning, the first summer session of this year found me attending instead at night.
Among other things, this meant I had to drive all the way to the college, and forego the usual stroll through the park. The transition proved simple enough, and having the car nearby had its advantages (never before have I witnessed so many consecutive nights with thunderstorms).
In any case, this past week I resumed morning classes, as well as the daily step through the park. Despite feeling nervous about the new class, that first morning found me strolling slowly, with a smile on my face. And then as I emerged from the trees bordering the parking area, I remembered exactly why, when given the chance, I walk the extra kilometer to school. For there before me rose the tall grasses, rolling hills, and open sky of the meadow of Tyler Park.
The path through the meadow--paved and well kept--can't be more than a quarter-mile in length, yet it remains a treat for any who enjoy the songs and tapestries of nature. It begins with a small climb, subtle as a spy, with grass of many varieties springing from either side of the path. Many grow as high as my waist, and some as high as my shoulders. In winter, one frequently finds deer grazing by a stream nearby, eyeing me warily whilst grinding though their fibrous fare.
As the path rises, flowers of many kinds appear numerous among the grass. On last count, I found at least six different varieties, ranging in color from yellow and orange to blue and violet. They attract a noisome bunch of insects and other crawly things this time of year, and seem to dance on windy days.
At the climax of the hill stands a small copse of short Walnut trees, where many a bird finds a place to sing. As a result, I've dubbed the spot the "choir loft," and whistle a diddy each time I pass. Beneath the trees stand some curious looking berry bushes, which I suspect are poisonous for me, but seem to bother bird digestion not a bit. I've even noted a family of rabbits who of late have made a home of the hollow spaces beneath the bushes, well-hidden no doubt from predators and the heat of the day.
Speaking of predators, I caught a glimpse one time from the top of the rise of a fox and a little foxling shooting the bull on a nearby ridge. This was in winter, so the grass proved less thick, and made spotting the little guys easier. Round and round they seemed to run, delighting perhaps in the rare treat of a bright sun in winter. Their game proved as much a treat for me as for them I don't doubt.
Alas, the path descends from the "choir loft," until once again entering a stretch of trees, which shade an old stone bridge over a narrow stream. Climb another hill, and one has arrived at the college.
The walk through the meadow is short one, but a real and delightful treat all the same. It seems all those months of crossing it without interruption led me to take it for granted; to look without seeing, and to hear without listening. It is a simple gift to awake once more to the present world, but a wholesome one too, and I'm glad now to have seen that little meadow again with fresh eyes and a more open mind.
It's nice when that happens :).
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