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Autumn & Entropy - The Retreat VI
Entropy
The Retreat
Even though I had resorted to backtracking, I made good time and wasted little light on the return trip. Backtracking, retreating, and surrender, aren't activities I pursue often, so it came as a surprise when I noticed my step had remained light and the way easy. I smiled at the discovery, as most outings where the need to retrace my path is more of a guttural and barbaric affair. Not today, I thought, watching a flock of geese soaring high above the magnificent landscape. I admired those big ornery birds, more than most. In fact, I would say they are the most favored of all the birds I've encountered. Smart birds; strong and loyal, Canada Geese are ferocious protectors of their young, their family, and occasionally, the more timid birds in the vicinity. During countless encounters with the giant fowl, I have developed quite a sentiment for them, and smile each time I'm outnumbered and surrounded by a large group of hissing, agitated geese. I nodded at the giant formation in the sky. "See you in the spring", I called out, with a touch of envy in my voice.
This brief detour shouldn't take too long, I remembered thinking at the precise time my boot came down atop a large mound of dog s&*t. This caused me to lose my footing for an instant, setting off an unconscious series of reactions coursing through my body. Rippling muscle tissue and stretching sinew, responded to the synapses firing in my cortex. My body engaged its ingrained mechanisms, desperate to avoid the seemingly imminent groin strain that was unfolding. As luck would have it, I narrowly avoided an awkward and embarrassing spill, but an overstretched groin muscle would be the toll of that folly. I remember the leaves rustling in the warm October glow, and I remember the price paid by my groin that afternoon and the painful reminder of that loss of footing. A shrill curse erupted throughout the peaceful and serene paradise, ushering in a chorus of colorful expletives both foreign and guttural. A half dozen sparrows, of the song variety, broke from the tangled margins in a flurry of feathers and panic; and I assumed they had departed for quieter and linguistically safer environs. The ancient maples, the regal guardians of the woodlands, received a quick lesson in the commoners' dialect that fine afternoon. The pirate's dialect and the trucker's mouth had cut the ages long silence of the forest. I suspect it was a language that hadn't broken the serenity in an age. Long before the time of the Europeans and the Drummond islanders, no doubt. Silent were those mighty wooden sentinels had stood for time unrecorded. Young those maples were, when the rightful rulers of this land still held their dominion over all things. I had little doubt that such words, my phrases that were as colorful as the season, had ever broken the silence in this place. I shurgged, and with that I left my indelible auditory mark on the land as I had done countless times past.
II
Odor of a maleficent sort clung to my boot with an iron grip only foul smells possess. That terrible fragrance infused every molecule of air around me, turning a beautiful October breeze into a noxious pestilence. Despite my valiant attempts to remove the sticky pestilence, I found it was an exercise in futility. Rubbing and scraping the well-worn tread of my boot across every manner of roughage in the immediate vicinity, did nothing more than spread the terrible fumes outward. Failing to find the humor in the situation, I had no choice but to accept the addition of this fragrant companion for the duration. My fantastic mood had taken a slight hit, but I carried on, for the day was splendid and rare. I thanked the heavens that there were no spectators in this remote corner of the county, save for one. He was there, as he always was, watching from the verge, for I could feel his gaze upon me. I carefully marked the location of that fetid landmine, just to be sure I didn't encounter any of those comedic issues on the return trip.
Foul step after foul step carried me across a small field and back to the trailhead. The sun was gorgeous and warm on my skin, as my feathered emissaries announced my return. A pair of savannah sparrows hopped up and into the air as the noxious cloud around me signalled my approach. I watched the birds depart on a southwesterly course, while I reached for the door of the truck . I ran through a short checklist of the gear I required, crossing T's and dotting I's in my mind. Just then, a most improbable situation unfolded. For the second time that afternoon a shrill, high-pitched shriek broke the autumn silence. This time the shriek didn't come from the clumsy birder crashing through the greenery, singing colourful pirate shanties. The barbaric cursing and lambasting was absent this time around. No, the grand old forest bore witness to the shrill squealing sounds of a young girl; a girl amid hellish terror.
That young shrieking girl was none other than yours truly, and I cried out in startled surprise as a great griffon descended upon me. A magnificent swoosh and an enormous shadow marked its entrance, as the beast came within five feet of my screeching form. For the briefest of moments, I locked eyes with that venerable creature: thrice afore I had peered into those bottomless wells of amber, and each time they had peered back into mine. And I knew what was there, I knew this creature well. For this was my great avian adversary, the quarry of all quarries, my revered nemesis. I was beholden unto the beast as I had chased it countless times. We had clashed together across all the seething marshes and backwater bogs in the county. I had chased it to the brink of madness and obsession in years past and always it slipped away ethereal as would a wraith or ghast. This was none other than the mighty Northern Harrier of legend; this was the great creature of my legend. An age passed in those briefest of moments when we locked eyes, I gazed within and saw that primal magnificence and freedom that only the untamed possess. For the first time I had truly gazed into the eyes of the wild, and those eyes gazed back into me. Pointing toward the heavens, I proclaimed loudly so the regent would hear.
"I know you" I yelled, reaching for the mighty light sabre secured at my breast.
"I know you mighty beast of the swamps and you know me!"
In an instant I had the optical sword swinging wildly, honing in on the target with practised ease. Ready to strike and claim my long awaited victory. But just as the sights crossed paths with her winged majesty, the beast was gone. She vanished beyond the wall of birch, and into the glowing October afternoon, leaving me with nothing but the stench of defeat.
#nature #inspirational #Life
© ccouling
The Retreat
Even though I had resorted to backtracking, I made good time and wasted little light on the return trip. Backtracking, retreating, and surrender, aren't activities I pursue often, so it came as a surprise when I noticed my step had remained light and the way easy. I smiled at the discovery, as most outings where the need to retrace my path is more of a guttural and barbaric affair. Not today, I thought, watching a flock of geese soaring high above the magnificent landscape. I admired those big ornery birds, more than most. In fact, I would say they are the most favored of all the birds I've encountered. Smart birds; strong and loyal, Canada Geese are ferocious protectors of their young, their family, and occasionally, the more timid birds in the vicinity. During countless encounters with the giant fowl, I have developed quite a sentiment for them, and smile each time I'm outnumbered and surrounded by a large group of hissing, agitated geese. I nodded at the giant formation in the sky. "See you in the spring", I called out, with a touch of envy in my voice.
This brief detour shouldn't take too long, I remembered thinking at the precise time my boot came down atop a large mound of dog s&*t. This caused me to lose my footing for an instant, setting off an unconscious series of reactions coursing through my body. Rippling muscle tissue and stretching sinew, responded to the synapses firing in my cortex. My body engaged its ingrained mechanisms, desperate to avoid the seemingly imminent groin strain that was unfolding. As luck would have it, I narrowly avoided an awkward and embarrassing spill, but an overstretched groin muscle would be the toll of that folly. I remember the leaves rustling in the warm October glow, and I remember the price paid by my groin that afternoon and the painful reminder of that loss of footing. A shrill curse erupted throughout the peaceful and serene paradise, ushering in a chorus of colorful expletives both foreign and guttural. A half dozen sparrows, of the song variety, broke from the tangled margins in a flurry of feathers and panic; and I assumed they had departed for quieter and linguistically safer environs. The ancient maples, the regal guardians of the woodlands, received a quick lesson in the commoners' dialect that fine afternoon. The pirate's dialect and the trucker's mouth had cut the ages long silence of the forest. I suspect it was a language that hadn't broken the serenity in an age. Long before the time of the Europeans and the Drummond islanders, no doubt. Silent were those mighty wooden sentinels had stood for time unrecorded. Young those maples were, when the rightful rulers of this land still held their dominion over all things. I had little doubt that such words, my phrases that were as colorful as the season, had ever broken the silence in this place. I shurgged, and with that I left my indelible auditory mark on the land as I had done countless times past.
II
Odor of a maleficent sort clung to my boot with an iron grip only foul smells possess. That terrible fragrance infused every molecule of air around me, turning a beautiful October breeze into a noxious pestilence. Despite my valiant attempts to remove the sticky pestilence, I found it was an exercise in futility. Rubbing and scraping the well-worn tread of my boot across every manner of roughage in the immediate vicinity, did nothing more than spread the terrible fumes outward. Failing to find the humor in the situation, I had no choice but to accept the addition of this fragrant companion for the duration. My fantastic mood had taken a slight hit, but I carried on, for the day was splendid and rare. I thanked the heavens that there were no spectators in this remote corner of the county, save for one. He was there, as he always was, watching from the verge, for I could feel his gaze upon me. I carefully marked the location of that fetid landmine, just to be sure I didn't encounter any of those comedic issues on the return trip.
Foul step after foul step carried me across a small field and back to the trailhead. The sun was gorgeous and warm on my skin, as my feathered emissaries announced my return. A pair of savannah sparrows hopped up and into the air as the noxious cloud around me signalled my approach. I watched the birds depart on a southwesterly course, while I reached for the door of the truck . I ran through a short checklist of the gear I required, crossing T's and dotting I's in my mind. Just then, a most improbable situation unfolded. For the second time that afternoon a shrill, high-pitched shriek broke the autumn silence. This time the shriek didn't come from the clumsy birder crashing through the greenery, singing colourful pirate shanties. The barbaric cursing and lambasting was absent this time around. No, the grand old forest bore witness to the shrill squealing sounds of a young girl; a girl amid hellish terror.
That young shrieking girl was none other than yours truly, and I cried out in startled surprise as a great griffon descended upon me. A magnificent swoosh and an enormous shadow marked its entrance, as the beast came within five feet of my screeching form. For the briefest of moments, I locked eyes with that venerable creature: thrice afore I had peered into those bottomless wells of amber, and each time they had peered back into mine. And I knew what was there, I knew this creature well. For this was my great avian adversary, the quarry of all quarries, my revered nemesis. I was beholden unto the beast as I had chased it countless times. We had clashed together across all the seething marshes and backwater bogs in the county. I had chased it to the brink of madness and obsession in years past and always it slipped away ethereal as would a wraith or ghast. This was none other than the mighty Northern Harrier of legend; this was the great creature of my legend. An age passed in those briefest of moments when we locked eyes, I gazed within and saw that primal magnificence and freedom that only the untamed possess. For the first time I had truly gazed into the eyes of the wild, and those eyes gazed back into me. Pointing toward the heavens, I proclaimed loudly so the regent would hear.
"I know you" I yelled, reaching for the mighty light sabre secured at my breast.
"I know you mighty beast of the swamps and you know me!"
In an instant I had the optical sword swinging wildly, honing in on the target with practised ease. Ready to strike and claim my long awaited victory. But just as the sights crossed paths with her winged majesty, the beast was gone. She vanished beyond the wall of birch, and into the glowing October afternoon, leaving me with nothing but the stench of defeat.
#nature #inspirational #Life
© ccouling
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