As I enter my sit-spot for the last time, I can’t believe how much change has occured since I first set foot here over two months ago. The leaves were green, fresh, and the world so full of life. I was beginning to recognize the voices of animals and birds, together writing a song that I would grow to know the words to. I was starting out my sophomore semester at Hollins during a global pandemic, and so much of my life seemed uncertain. However, throughout the months, I became accustomed to coming here and relaxing as nature’s mysteries unfolded before my eyes and the world opened up to me. Now, I stand here in the cold beneath the barren and grey sky, the only sounds are the winter lament of the creek and the pounding of my heart in my ear drums.

Someone was here, someone who wasn’t me. They don’t have the same care that I have for this place, and a great pile of sand ontop of the land screams their unknown name. Tire tracks trace through the ground. I look down and remember the soil that was teeming with such life before, now just a canvas painted by destruction. My beautiful little clover plant peeks through in silent defiance. It seems to wink at me, as if saying “I’m still here, you can’t get rid of me.”

The spiderweb that has withstood so much is now no more. The heavy rain of the past few days must have washed it away, as it does all things not ready to move on. I am saddened that I never got to meet the spider whose home I so admired. I only saw evidence of her in passing. I hope she’s okay, that she lived to see another day. But thus is the circle of life; when the rain washes the old away, the new is there to take it’s place. Maybe she had babies who will follow in her many footsteps.

 

Even the sky is empty, not a single cloud in sight. Instead, there’s just a great big sky of blue- a vast unknown. The crisp wind drifts in from the East, piercing my skin with every gust. The wind carries with it a sadness; the sadness of cold, of leaving, of death. Above me, the icy breeze whispers secrets to the trees who sway to the rippling creek’s solemn song.

I look out into the seemingly empty woods and reflect on my time here. All the animals that have passed along the game trail are probably safe with their families right now, coming together to bear the cold. I’m just about to start my own hibernation for the long months standing between me and Spring Semester. The song of the creek washes away my troubles, just like the recent rain. As I listen, I think about the trees that still stand despite losing all their leaves. I think about the tiny plants growing out of the sand, refusing to give up. I imagine the baby animals and spiders ready to emerge come spring. I listen to the beautiful song of the creek one final time, reminding me that life goes on, always. Change is ineviteble, but something good always comes of it. As I sway to the rhythym with the trees that soar above my head, I utter a quiet “thank you.” Finally, I smile and leave as the wind in the canopy waves goodbye.

Sit Spot at the End of the Semester

My sit spot at the end vs. beginning of the semester