Copyright 2021 by Lori-Ann Willey
Through tired contacts that grow
older by the day, my eyes, and long static-filled hair that clung to my face
like a scared child, I gazed into the still-darkened early morning sky. With wide-awake eyes, I hoped to see beautiful
twinkles of the stars above. After turning my head in all directions, as if an owl
trying to find some prey, I hoped to see at least one lone star, a glimmer of
light enshrouded by darkness …a hole, if you will, in the vast gray blanket above me. While scrutinizing a nearby
tree, I realized my contacts were clear.
It really was cloudy up there.
My feet were bare as I stood upon
an area of hard-packed snow; they were not yet cold. My arms revealed and bare. The skimpy black tank top, complete with “sketti”
straps of woven nylon. Everything about
that says “cold”. The clothing that held
my legs through two long sleeves of their own made of thin stretchy T-shirt-like material of black and blue camouflage design was the last to tell me it is
an 18-degree morning. In all ways, I
should have felt the cold penetrate my body, but I did not.
To other eyes other than me standing
there in the darkness wearing my typical skimpy daily attire, there may be
otherwise, nothing to see. However, to a
nature lover, my eyes not only saw the obvious darkness but also streaked gray clouds,
the silhouette of a hibernating and baren maple tree before not 50 yards away, and the faint ragged
outline of the near-blackened landscape in the distance, too, but they also saw
what was not obvious. My mind’s eye noted
the far side of a snow-covered undeveloped area of younger trees jutted, tall,
slender, and in such abundance that their very nature huddles them together as
a family-a community of their own.
Nature, she is the very core of
who I am.
As I stood in appreciation of the
darkness around me, internally, I drafted a book or at least a descriptive
essay in poetic form. All that I saw,
albeit so little, and all that I felt with words pulled from my mind, heart,
and soul …all in a language not translatable that would offer the same effect
or result to anyone else. It was a heart-felt
song of emotion that is difficult to describe -there are no truer words
singular or plural. Even scattered they make
sense to this heart of mine. These
words, or as some would call them, emotions, are not translatable in written form.
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