Drops of Joy

There was something so nice about being outside with Ryan yesterday. The crisp fall air tantalized all of the senses and integrated itself with us. We were swinging when I asked if he would roll down the hill with me. For months I have been saying this and after about the fifth time I knew I should not be whole unless I rolled down the hill. Challenged by Ryan as he asked if I really wanted to, I took off in the direction of the hill. It was at this point that he realized that I was all too serious about this matter and he slid off of his swing and followed. The grass was forgiving of the summer spent mostly indoors by the air conditioning. When I reached the top of the hill I lay down and Ryan laid down as well, it was at this point I told him it was a race. So we began tumbling down the hill after the first 2-3 rolls there was no stopping us, the hill would not let us stop till we reach the bottom.

Ryan reached the bottom first but I rolled farther away from the hill. The winner is as of yet undecided, but one thing has been decided, nature was beckoning me. It still is. The canyons speak of trails untraveled and views unseen. Two summers without such visitations leaves one dry and without contentment. But one moment experienced tumbling down the hill and a drop of that joy is instilled in us, however brief.

It is in this moment that I realized how empty my life is, putting my nose to the grindstone day after day. The sea of grey is taking more of a toll than even I had anticipated. Before I had school to distract me but now, now I watch as Ryan and I waste our evenings inside when there is so much life to be found outside. Who cares what neighbors may think, for if they truly knew they too would be found outside swinging life away. Feeling the wind as it blows by beckoning of wonders outside of the grey. Instead it sings of giant trees out of reach of the felling of mankind, mountaintops that the highways have not carved their way through. It speaks of a different time when nature and man were not at so many odds with one another. It even speaks of the truffula trees before the Sneeds took over and dashed that paradise to bits.

Looking out at the mountains from my window to yet another window is not enough. The dust shall not be defeated. It clings with a vengeance to the windows. This reminds me of my trip to the Redwoods as we wound our way up to Fern Canyon. The trees so covered the sky that for years dust had been settling underneath. The view was rather startling and yet it looked more like it belonged than the dust on my window and gateway to life. One of the more remarkable sites was the fern growing all over the canyon walls. Joshy saw nothing that restricted his climbing a felled tree here and climbed up a log, dad took a picture, a most remarkable picture in which, because of the fern, you could not tell which direction is up and which is down.

This picture is mocking the direction of men, as we put our ceilings always at the top and our maps always pointing North. The fern grows where one would least expect it out of the crevices of a looming canyon wall. The placement so startling that one cannot help but question the placement civilization restricts us with. Who says one should look at an object so clearly out of place to our minds and restrict its being only because we do not see this as a triumph. The grass that grows in between the sidewalk cracks is merely showing that nature will last as long as she did before us as well as long after. The grass is merely paying its due as it may be viewed as a weed, it is rather objecting to the placement of cement over it and thinks we should think again before deciding we have conquered it.