This month I observed a community of trees, many of which are juniper, grass, squirrels, birds, (some grackles, and some finches) and a few wandering students. The setting was on St. Edward’s campus, near the edge of the Fleck building. The weather was incredible; the high was around 70, and the low 55. There was also a mild breeze which ruffled the squirrels’ fur, the pages of my notebook, the grass and the trees, whose existences are “collective view[s] of a century” (Leopold, 16). As I inspected them closer, the intricate and wise details of the bark contrasted with the vast, faded blue sky in its background. I was intrigued by a specific tree’s array of browns displayed in its long base, ranging from mocha to black coffee-colored. From the base, my eyes wandered to its branches, and finally to its leaves. The leaves too presented every hue of green imaginable.
I also observed either a confrontation of conflict or playful banter between two squirrels, whom I imagined were both males, after making friends with one of the two. I then presumed that the two teenagers were in battle for the heart of a female in their species. And although she was not present to give me any impressions of her, I inferred from the behavior of her suitors that she was both confident and aware of her persona. One squirrel, the first suitor, observed me from afar, quivering his nose and tail in hesitation. Once this trance was broken, his movement was quick and intentional. He sprinted closer to inspect through his big, dark brown eyes, when he promptly accepted my presence in his territory and proceed to ignore me.
The sun seemed especially white, and especially fond of our particularly community of flora and fauna. It was bright enough that I couldn’t quite determine the edges of the perfect circle. Its seamless halo inspired my photography, making its way into a corner of each picture I snapped. The sun exposed and energized everything living in the area of campus, including myself.