Thursday, March 25, 2010

Mystery of the field

My car windows were open as I made my way up the rough dirt drive to the parking lot at the conservation area. A shrill ringing filled the air in the vicinity of the pond and wetland. It went on and on. I stopped the car but couldn't figure out the cause. Curious, I got out of the car. The grass was gushy as I stepped towards the pond, and my left shoe sank into water up to my ankle. The keening was persistent and loud, incongruous with the mild sunny day and placid scenery. (At that moment a car, windows rolled up tight, maneuvered past mine and I'm sure that the driver wondered why I was there because no one ever stops let alone gets out at that spot.) I was in the midst of the phenomenon, at the source of the keening, and it was all the stranger that the cause was invisible. It seemed to be a great many of a tiny species sounding all at once. But I didn't see any birds in the trees, or amphibious creatures or insects at the water's edge or on the surface of the pond, not a one. I drove a little further, got out again and stood at the northern end of the pond. As if on cue the ringing stopped and suddenly there was silence.

I had witnessed something, and the point had been made.

I love you.

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