OUR TRUE PLACE HERE Lawrence Chen

OUR TRUE PLACE HERE,

Lawrence Chen

A snap of twigs in the forest startles a small tree-colored squirrel sitting in its heated nest after a freezing night, dead leaves and branches littered with tiny sprouts of clovers and moss, splotches of red remain on wilting flowers for another few days before the imminent return of blanketing cold to this far-off retreat.

Just as last year but in a renewed cycle of another fleeting season, the chirping willow warbler passes the tree every day in a hunt for insects, not fruits or berries, and the sparrow that zips and nips at the ragweed without any care, leafless trees endure day after day bathed in sunlight seeping onto the bare forest floor, as snow falls gently, hiding the old decaying underbrush, creating new life in this sacred land. Unknown noises do not bother the nocturnal barn owls burrowed in a tree cavity, each long day is not counted by the proud stag as he moves silently through the waning nights protecting his doe and fawn, nor is the oak tree concerned about who lives in, under, or on it.

Night eases to dawn with red sky, green bushes, brown trees, slowly shifting into full sunshine as time passes as nature intended, moths and mosquitoes buzz and hum around the area, salmon and cod swimming upriver fight against the current, and we, humans, are just one being among many others in this small world even though we often forget our true place here.