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Intrusion into Nature

ekthorp's picture

There are people in my spot.

I repeat, there are people in my spot.

At first, I was incredibly disoriented by this. It wasn’t one person, opening up the possibility of bonding, but an entire class of them, not one of which I recognized. I’m upset by it- how could they find this place I had begun to associate with myself. I had found it, I had figmented it in my mind. It was as if they had found me, or at least a piece of me I had been hiding from everyone else.

But now, I am trying to see this is an opportunity. A chance to practice wild writing in an unexpected encounter. How does the pond feel about their presence? I had been hoping to practice some natural writing by writing about alternate personas of the place, but I had begun to practice the words in my head, taking away their spontaneity. Because I was completely surprised by the presence of people at my spot, I can write for nature, from a place of natural.

Let’s see how this goes:


They slip the still, shallow shape onto my surface, insinuating it just above my soul, using it as a vessel to look inward at me. I react, as one does (obviously); little ripples, a path behind their natural intrusion. Newtonian sense I’ve known intrinsically since infanthood; afterall, he based it on my brethren.

 It’s been a while since I’ve heard such words used to describe my interior and exteriors. Most visitors on this side are silent, reflective; these are analytical and there are lots of them. I do not resent visitation, even if only because doing so is futile. But I am a development in and of myself, only an abstraction of human will with the tools of nature at their disposal. I act, I react, I will myself into a tame type of exhibit for their primordial senses. I exist as an example to this tiny collection, but my essence comes from clouds and oceans. I know what salt water tastes like; I know what it is like to rush down a cliff with all the force of physics behind me. I know chemicals; I am not unsoiled. I know it in collection; I know it as every raindrop knows the endless cycle of repetition that water follows. 

 They see themselves not just on my glassy surfaces, but in the dark analysis they are about to attend to. They are about to see what their family has done to my existence, and either ignore or regret it. That’s what humans do; accept other’s actions both as separate and as their own. They cannot accept what I cannot voice, because we are so entirely separate yet their actions so totally affect my existence. I am the chemicals collected inside me, reflected in the mirror of the chemicals they use to describe me.

 So when they seek what’s below my surface, I can give them both everything and nothing. What does studying a child tell you about its family? Ask the infant; as much as that infant can tell you, I can.