In the Undergrowth


Most encounters with wildlife are undramatic.It happens like a breath of air, in, out, natural as breathing, without any of the dramatic drumbeat buildup you might feel things like a hornbill or a mousedeer might deserve. It happens in a rustle of leaves, a swoop of wings, a stoppered call, a flash of color; happens in a hurried chase, a frantic sweep of an area. Really it happens one time in ten and perhaps that is why there is no crescendo to sightings. It happens like oh. Like that’s it. And perhaps peace will flood you and the world will still for a blessed moment and you and the creature make eye contact and you feel like part of something universal.

Or perhaps the lizard or bird or mammal disappears without any of this and the only real feeling lingering afterwards is damn.

1 thought on “In the Undergrowth”

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