from Asner to Zen

ProetryPlace Blog 11 from Asner to Zen

    There is in our town a small piece of Nature that lies between apartments on one side, a hospital on another. Major thoroughfares border other extremes. It was created by the hospital as a walking trail to promote cardiac health. Nature abounds in this small sanctuary, and it somehow excludes the urban surroundings that remain in such close proximity.

    On spring days the sweet scent from flowering honeysuckle vines flavor the warm air. Bluebirds enjoy the atmosphere of one sparsely wooded section,  flying from one small tree to the next, displaying their beautiful coloring. Cardinals, sparrows, hawks and owls are the most common aviary inhabitants of the more heavily wooded areas.

    The large grassy lawn behind a retirement home abuts the one-acre pond at one end of the park. Canada Geese come in large numbers to hatch their furry yellow goslings and introduce them to swimming in the calm water. They parade, goose stepping, from lawn to pond unabashed by any walker or runner who may intrude on their territory.

    On sunny days, dozens of Frisbee-sized turtles bask atop semi-sunken fallen trees at the edge of the pond. Toward the center, a fountain shoots up a 12-foot circle of sprays to aerate the water.

    Most of the trees, shrubs and weeds are indigenous to the south—tall pines, a variety of oaks, a few wild cherry trees and dogwoods, many Southern Magnolias with boles of 12 inches or more in diameter. Some are too vine-covered to identify.

    In July I like an early morning walk before the Georgia heat becomes oppressive. Today I drove to the walking trail through dense morning mist—particulate humidity that saturated the heavy air. I carried my Walkman tape player and began my walk listening to a short story read by Ed Asner. A good story and a good read, but before a second story began something compelled me to switch off the player.

    

    I am alone. No other human shares the path with me. No bluebirds fly from tree to tree. Not even one pair of geese is present at the pond. From the relative absence of droppings on the trail, I surmise they must have abandoned this site several weeks ago.

    In the woods, no birds sing. I watch bubbles rising between ripples at a section of the pond where green algae has skimmed the surface. I think of Basho’s frog. Then there is silence, except for a faint breeze whistling past my ear buds.

    No turtles have emerged into the condensation fog. At a turn where thick vegetation does not obstruct my view, I spy a heron perched on a snag. It appears as though he is standing on the water’s surface.  I stop.  Enthralled, my mind aware of nothing more, absorbed into a profound silence, as one with my surroundings, time suspended in one moment. I bow slightly and whisper, “Namaste, heron.”

    The heron blinks a round eye but remains tranquil and motionless. Thus we stand, yards apart, frozen in time. At last, I continue to the trails end.

    Minutes later I drive back into our subdivision of manicured lawns, knockout roses and crepe myrtles in full, glorious bloom.

Richard Allen Anderson       < : - | http://richardandersonblogs.blogspot.com