Equinox
I went to the Wayne National Forest near Burr Oak State Park on Tuesday afternoon. After driving around the state park, I entered the Wayne's campground. This time of year, camping on the grounds is free. I found a delightful spot under some tall white pines. The afternoon sun was falling lightly onto the forest floor.
I built a lean-to between two pines, one relatively young and the other relatively old.
As I watched the sun set that evening, I noted its setting point on the horizon with a compass. It set nearly due west. The moon - a sliver of white - was in its earliest phase after the new moon. It was low in the western sky, following the sun to the other side of the world.
I took in the sights and sounds as light left the earth and darkness flooded in to fill the space: a skunk bumbles out of the forest away down the path. It sniffs around then looks back at me. He seemed to decide I was better left alone and went back into the underbrush.
I slept a cold sleep. The temperature must have fallen into the upper twenties or low thirties. Regardless of my uber-cold toes, I slept until I was awoken by the gentle cawing of crows at the very break of day. All the crows in the forest seemed to be cawing to each other as if they were calling out the roll beforebeginning another day of foraging for food.
The sun rose due east. It was an equinox day. It was the first day of spring.
Still so early, I walked into the forest to the man-made lake of Burr Oak State Park. Twisting through the hollows, winding along a stream run. A large deer is frozen in is tracks up on the ridge. I freeze too. Eventually he bounds away and I move in to examine his tracks.
The air was still cold for the sun was not high nor was it hot. I sat next to a
tree and took a nap. I listened to the woodpeckers drum. Some were looking for food. Some were calling to kin. One drum was answered by another of the same quality.
I continued my walk to the lake after the sun warmed-up. Finally I was there. I sat under a tree and watched the geese sit on the dam. Every so often, two honk and take flight, splashing down into the lake a hundred yards away. Above, a hawk circled. A crow dove at him repeatedly either harassing him out of fear or doing it for amusement. When the hawk was far enough away or the crow becameuninterested, the hawk was alone to make lazy circles over the forest.
I checked my compass. It was nearly noon. Time to head back to camp.
The last I ate was dinner the previous night (a bit of nut roll, a bite-sized Butterfinger, a piece of cheese). But, I did not want food. I wanted to fast, to experience hunger so that I may know it better. The only way to know hunger is to be hungry.
I worked on my shelter. More pine boughs. Stuff dried needles into the walls. Spread a poncho over the top. Prepare my fire space.
I finished my book. Tom Brown's The Tracker.
I walked to the clearing and removed my shoes and shirt. I walked slowly and quietly. A squirrel was digging about to my right. I examined his digs.
Into the forest. Under a spruce. Looking at a house neighboring the forest. The dogs are barking at me. The humans don't know I'm here.
I'm feeling very tired from the lack of food. I go back into the sun and lay down for a nap. While laying, an ant crawls over my foot. The ant is red.
I'm lethargic. I will go back to camp and eat for I want to be aware. I know a little more about hunger now.
That evening, I sat in the field and watched the night descend. I thought: darkness is an elastic substance. Light pushes and squeezes it. Light moves darkness. When light gone, darkness stretches back into its place. Then I thought: But, light and dark are not exclusive, they exist together in varying degrees.
I was on my feet and heading back to camp. I prepared a fire and then prepared to sleep. Tomorrow I'd awake and leave the woods to go back to work. That night was warm.
The crows awoke me in the morning. When I stood up I spoke to them, "I hear you. I'm awake." I spoke very little while in the woods. I was quiet.
The car was still intact. It was ten after eight. I drove to work.
I built a lean-to between two pines, one relatively young and the other relatively old.
As I watched the sun set that evening, I noted its setting point on the horizon with a compass. It set nearly due west. The moon - a sliver of white - was in its earliest phase after the new moon. It was low in the western sky, following the sun to the other side of the world.
I took in the sights and sounds as light left the earth and darkness flooded in to fill the space: a skunk bumbles out of the forest away down the path. It sniffs around then looks back at me. He seemed to decide I was better left alone and went back into the underbrush.
I slept a cold sleep. The temperature must have fallen into the upper twenties or low thirties. Regardless of my uber-cold toes, I slept until I was awoken by the gentle cawing of crows at the very break of day. All the crows in the forest seemed to be cawing to each other as if they were calling out the roll beforebeginning another day of foraging for food.
The sun rose due east. It was an equinox day. It was the first day of spring.
Still so early, I walked into the forest to the man-made lake of Burr Oak State Park. Twisting through the hollows, winding along a stream run. A large deer is frozen in is tracks up on the ridge. I freeze too. Eventually he bounds away and I move in to examine his tracks.
The air was still cold for the sun was not high nor was it hot. I sat next to a
tree and took a nap. I listened to the woodpeckers drum. Some were looking for food. Some were calling to kin. One drum was answered by another of the same quality.
I continued my walk to the lake after the sun warmed-up. Finally I was there. I sat under a tree and watched the geese sit on the dam. Every so often, two honk and take flight, splashing down into the lake a hundred yards away. Above, a hawk circled. A crow dove at him repeatedly either harassing him out of fear or doing it for amusement. When the hawk was far enough away or the crow becameuninterested, the hawk was alone to make lazy circles over the forest.
I checked my compass. It was nearly noon. Time to head back to camp.
The last I ate was dinner the previous night (a bit of nut roll, a bite-sized Butterfinger, a piece of cheese). But, I did not want food. I wanted to fast, to experience hunger so that I may know it better. The only way to know hunger is to be hungry.
I worked on my shelter. More pine boughs. Stuff dried needles into the walls. Spread a poncho over the top. Prepare my fire space.
I finished my book. Tom Brown's The Tracker.
I walked to the clearing and removed my shoes and shirt. I walked slowly and quietly. A squirrel was digging about to my right. I examined his digs.
Into the forest. Under a spruce. Looking at a house neighboring the forest. The dogs are barking at me. The humans don't know I'm here.
I'm feeling very tired from the lack of food. I go back into the sun and lay down for a nap. While laying, an ant crawls over my foot. The ant is red.
I'm lethargic. I will go back to camp and eat for I want to be aware. I know a little more about hunger now.
That evening, I sat in the field and watched the night descend. I thought: darkness is an elastic substance. Light pushes and squeezes it. Light moves darkness. When light gone, darkness stretches back into its place. Then I thought: But, light and dark are not exclusive, they exist together in varying degrees.
I was on my feet and heading back to camp. I prepared a fire and then prepared to sleep. Tomorrow I'd awake and leave the woods to go back to work. That night was warm.
The crows awoke me in the morning. When I stood up I spoke to them, "I hear you. I'm awake." I spoke very little while in the woods. I was quiet.
The car was still intact. It was ten after eight. I drove to work.
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