The Silent Watch
We trek across the campus and head over to the bridge overlooking the resaca. Our assignment seems pretty simple: write about nature. Out here, nature is hard to ignore. It’s a cold dreary day and she slaps us in the face with her cold winds as soon as we leave the classroom. Yet, regardless of the cold, we keep walking and looking and listening. Around me I hear my classmates remarking on the several species of birds that have congregated on the broken limbs of what at one time must have been beautiful proud trees. And that’s when it hits me. This wasn’t always a resaca. At some point this was probably a full and lush grove of trees. They once claimed this space for themselves. They lived here, providing a safe haven for countless generations of creatures. Somehow over the course of time these trees became a casualty of the elements to which they were exposed.
Slowly, they succumbed, one by one to the inevitable effects of being submerged in water. The little copse of trees, that had managed to survive for years unattended, died. Now only a few brave soldiers still stand tall and proud. You can see them trying so hard to maintain their dignity as all around them life goes on.
At first glance it’s easy to overlook them. We tend to get so caught up on the hustle and bustle of the life we see all around them. This bird or that one going about their daily life with the same nearsightedness from which we all suffer. Each keeping to themselves, going about their day and following their own urgent agenda.
It’s not so difficult to understand. We are ourselves a reflection of the nature we came out here to study. At one point or another all of us have been exposed to loss and grief. Though we might think we’ll never survive such losses; we inevitably do. As is in the human spirit, we survive and overcome and manage to live day to day in spite of it all.
These once magnificent trees are a testament to the frailty and beauty of life. They have struggled through many changes and managed to remain standing through many seasons. And though they stand here before me; I know they are dying. Life is no longer theirs to have. They are destined to keep struggling everyday for that last shred of sunlight to touch their trunks before finally giving in to the murky water below.
They have so much they would like to tell us. But it’s hard to hear them over the squawking birds nearby. It’s only when we stop and find some stillness that we can hear their tale.
