Cascade Feelings

The rocky path around Cascade Lake, going towards the Falls, was hot and dry. The blue sky and unrippled water below were empty of clouds. My water bottle was drained by the time we made the Falls. There, the soothing sound of water against rock brought hope of being quenched.

An ample tree, bigger than I could reach around, had bark textured like a brown topological model, insulating its trunk. It's shade refreshed me. I wanted to hug it. When I leaned close, I could smell the faint vanilla smell that gave away its identity, like a lady wearing her signature perfume. I returned to that fragrance, over and over for awhile. It satisfied a hunger for sweetness. I asked Victor to take my photo there with the tree to commemorate that satisfaction.

We rested in that shade, teasing a begging chipmunk by throwing it pieces of bark and twig instead of food.

Then two mountain jays, blue merging into black, each topped off with a headdress of plumes, landed above us. We watched as they hopped, plumes swaying, through the branches, one moving right above me. Would he bless me with a gob of poop? I wanted a photo of him. Victor got his camera out again and snapped a few tries.

Suddenly I heard the crackle of something hard landing on the other side of the tree. A pine cone? No it was a gigantic beetle, as big as the palm of my hand. In a flash, one of the jays grabbed it and flew several yards away. The bird attacked it, driving its beak against the carapace to get to the soft inner bug flesh. The crackling sound repeated and repeated, relentlessly, and the frenzied movements of the bird nearby brought out an unfettered animal feeling in me. I feel the frenzy too. I want to devour my prize-- that savage sense that gets little freedom in this too civilized world-- the danger of nature-- death and life intertwined in one action, unsanitized by layers of middle men and packaging.

It's gone in a moment. Victor comments,” Brutal.”

I reply,” The circle of life in action before our very eyes.”

Hiking back to the trail head, I fantasize about catching and killing animal meat to feed on and the satisfaction of dying myself as someone's dinner, rather than letting my body go to waste after cultivating it for so many years.

By Terra