9/15/19 4:20pm

 

I chose an area on the Hollins Greenway right before you get to the ridge with the noisy powerlines, and right after you get through the nicely shaded wooded segment of the trail. I know that beyond the top of that ridge is Carvin’s Cove, a reservoir for our part of the county.  I sat on the edge of the trail, looking over the small valley filled with plenty of life: many types of plants, insects, and birds that I could immediately see.

I have been to this location many times before, and it looks quite different than what it usually looks like when I visit. The first time I visited this location was January of last year, and most of the life that I describe in this blog post was not present then. It was barren, muddy, and icy, without all the buzzing and humming of aerial animals making their ways about the foliage. It was delightful to see this area so pregnant with color, movement, and life. On my way up the trail, I encountered a white-tailed deer with which I had a brief staring contest. The deer promptly erupted a noise which I can only describe of as a scream and dashed away.

The walk to my sit spot already had me in a very pleasant mood; feeling very safe and serene, but when I arrived, sat down, and tuned in, I became all the more aware of my beautiful surroundings (and internal environment). I focused on the sounds emitted by the choir of insects which penetrated every nook and noticed how the vibrations those animals produced resonated in my head. It felt very nice. I noticed my relative elevation when I peered over the edge of the trail and into the valley, which held so much dense and lush life. I relished the feeling of height—being raised in the coastal plains makes being in the mountains so much more sensational.

I then began to hone in on individual animals around me: most notable were the myriads of spiders who set up their spider-hammocks between the trees on either side of the path, which made it impassable to someone who didn’t have the heart to tear them down (like I). Then, I had the pleasure of gazing upon a very ample and bright bumblebee who was rustling around in a yellow flower growing amongst some poison ivy. The bee was so heavy that when it landed on the flower, the stalk bent under the bee’s weight. The bee compensated by alternating between hovering and resting.

The variety of foliage was amazing: the assemblage of every sort, size, and shape of leaf and limb reminded me of a Baroque painting. Small, bright flowers served to accent the collage of green.  I felt very calm in that place; the trees formed a shelter that kept me safe and the sun’s warmth felt like a loving hug. I turned my attention to a butterfly in a tree a little ways off of the path, down the slope leading to the valley. That tree is my first object of observance. I decided to keep an eye on the earth and rocks that comprise the path itself, as I know that it is prone to change considering weather and traffic patterns. Lastly, I thought Tinker Mountain would be an interesting subject to follow through fall and into winter.