October 24, 2020

The weather was overcast, thought it was quite warm out. I entered my sit spot an hour later than I normally did. The trees had lost so much of their foliage that I felt exposed at the back. Since it was later in the day, human traffic was significantly greater than it normally is on the misty cold mornings which I deign perfect for venturing out to my sit spot. I will not lie: the concentrated focus was hard when I could hear the footsteps of joggers and the passing of cars (How many people are leaving and returning to campus 9 AM on a Saturday?). The feeling of exposure made me feel naked and the rustling of leaves dropping from the trees made me turn, immediately suspecting an intruder. Nevertheless, I was able to tune in to my sit spot.

There was the consistent plinkering of the stream and the pulsing noise of a bug, or so I presume. It sounded a bit like a cricket noise but the noise occurred at a slower frequency, although it was rather rhythmic. The big brown leaves from the suspected Sycamore trees were falling, perhaps two leaves every minute or so. Most of the other trees were already bare and naked. Across the stream on the Western bank, there were many trees with smaller oval shaped yellow leaves which were falling as well. It was very peaceful to see an expanse of a landscape with a couple leaves floating by. One particular Sycamore leaf got caught on a branch in one of the naked trees. In that very same tree, a bird stopped by. The bird jumped from branch to branch before beginning to peck at the park of one of the branches, perhaps this was a woodpecker. The hammering noise contributed to the ambiance of the sit spot. I felt a wet drop fall on my face. I thought it was dew from the tree dripping down on me as per usual, but it turned out to be water droplets from the sky, rain. So there I was sitting in the rain. There did not seem to be too much going on, but then again, to the untrained eye there is nothing going on when in fact, everything is going on. That was a pillow worthy quote.

               It is with a heavy heart that I must notify you all of the disappearance of the yellow flower (one of my followed organisms), the suspected member of the genus helianthus. All trace of the plant is gone. All that remains is a pile of the dried grass bits that you see gathered up on the edge of a lawn after it has been mowed. It is noteworthy to mention that it is extremely unlikely that someone had mowed over the area, although, with pure will and determination, anything is possible.

The dying tree, suspected White Pine, is still naked. The holes seem to have grown: two new ones more towards the center of the bark. The moss seems to have grown and is creeping towards the west facing side of the trunk. However, on the bright side there seem to be new branches growing from the trunk. The other tree, suspected green ash, is now completely naked. There are no leaves at all. The bark appears darker but that could just be my eyes and the lighting. I also noticed new plant growth, in the shape of a possible vine curling up the length of the bark. The plants that used to surround the base of the tree seem to all be gone. All that remains are the piles of dead grass and fallen leaves.

               The three organisms that I had named seem to be doing well. The Sycamore tree still had a fair amount of leaves. Most of the leaves on the ground seem to belong to this tree. The leaves on the branches do seem to be acquiring more brown spots, which eventually begin to deepen in color and surface area until the entire leaf is brown.

At first, I could not find the mock strawberry, and was disappointed that another flower had disappeared. However, I later found two, tucked beneath the blades of grass (ooh how poetic). Most of the knotweed seemed to have left as well. What remained of most of the scatterings of knotweed were red stalks with yellow leaves. However, there were still some flowers remaining, though not as abundant as my previous visits. Ironically, the remaining flowers seem to have a deeper magenta fuchsia color, as if the deaths of the other flowers contributed to the blossoming of the survivors.

               My meter squared patch of grass was not nearly as interesting as the quadrants we observed in the Tulip Poplar forest (the Red Cedar one was very creepy). The grass was littered with the big brown sycamore leaves and some possible maple leaves. There were also brown pieces of residue of previous leaves. The grass was smushed in certain areas and the tops of a lot of the plants looked broken off or crunched over as I could see the splintered stems (perhaps someone did mow this area). Soon water began to fall from the sky… again. It was a wonderous experience to sit in the rain. I could feel the water droplets falling on me and hitting my skin. They weren’t fat pellets of water since it was sprinkling, so they felt more like tiny bubbles. It was mesmerizing to sit in the rain, doing nothing, simply watching the rain droplets hit the stream. The rain soon began to pick up as the droplets grew bigger and heavier. The transcendentalist moment of feeling like a giant transparent eyeball was broken when I was alarmed by the appearance of a giant ant on my blanket. I was able to watch this particularly big black ant traverse the obstacle course of grass to safely make it to a leaf. It had a round red thing with spindly things sticking out of it in its mouth- perhaps, another insect, now food? I felt like Henry Thoreau watching an ant battle bathed in melodrama, though mine was more of a conquest of a solitary ant unlike Thoreau’s. I guess the theme of today’s peaceful sit spot is Henry Thoreau, we are all but giant transparent eyeballs after all.