We're in Chapel Hill. How we got here is a subject for a long, leisurely post some other time. Titled, euphemistically, "Adventures."
But we're here, and it's a ridiculous place to an alien from Planet Manhattan. There are trees. Tall, old, rich, thick trees, dwarfing the humans and their habitations. There are lots of birds that aren't pigeons, sparrows, or even starlings. There are two-bedroom apartments for $800 (HA HA HA HA HA! ROTFLMAO!!!)
The sight of these things evokes ancient, atavistic instincts in me. The wind stirring the trees is a sight I didn't know I was thirsty for. It's a complex sight, like a visual symphony. As the same gust of wind passes through them all, each kind of tree has its own way of moving. It is as if the wind is a piece of music and the different tree species are different instruments. Some forgotten hunger is satisfied or pacified by the recognition of this sight. Probably it's the long-lost creator of the retina and the visual cortex, which for far too long haven't seen -- and had forgotten -- the level of complexity they were made to appreciate.
Birds. I was crazy enough about them as a child of 7 or 8 to have "Birdbrain" as one of my nicknames. So I go out on the deck and a small, neat bird with a white stripe above and below its eye comes over to check me out and say hello. (Actually, it's probably telling me the horrible things it's going to do to me if I trespass on its territory. It's saying "Be afraid. Be very afraid.") It's definitely looking at me, and it's making a three-syllable call that sounds like "vireo." Is it a white-eyed vireo? Is there such a thing? The field guide in my birdbrain has atrophied. As a seven-year-old I would probably have been able to identify this bird. Why are they so fascinating? I don't really understand it, but I am enthralled. I can literally feel the depth of focus of my eyes shifting from computer-screen distance to bird distance.
What a beautiful post!
"Some forgotten hunger is satisfied or pacified by the recognition of this sight." I like that.
I live in Nashville, TN, and I spend my weekends on a remote lake in TN, feeding that hunger. The ripple of the wind across a lushly wooded hillside; the symphony of sounds....I could lie on the bow of my boat for a million years and never grow tired of it.
Posted by: lynn | June 06, 2006 at 04:34 PM
Annie - glad to hear that you made it south ... adventure or not ... and particulalarly glad to hear that you are "wide eyed".
Posted by: GN | June 06, 2006 at 07:31 PM
Still can't spele - Selle - SPELL!
Posted by: GN | June 06, 2006 at 07:33 PM
A while back, I had the reverse experience visiting the "big city." I was a total rube gawking at the big buildings; my city friend had to smack me and tell me to behave myself.
Posted by: eusto | June 06, 2006 at 07:50 PM
Wherever you are, there you are.
Here we are, lucky for the hitch.
Posted by: reader_iam | June 06, 2006 at 11:11 PM
I can almost smell the lush, beauty and see the birds. Ooh, I love how you write, Amba.
Enjoy, enjoy, ... enjoy?
Posted by: tamarika | June 07, 2006 at 06:34 AM
We were almost killed by a falling tree yesterday. Nature. Hah!
Posted by: michael Reynolds | June 07, 2006 at 09:24 AM
A couple of friends of ours moved to Clayton, NC a few years ago. They bought a house with several acres of land. The realtor had said, apologetically, "It's $105,000...but they're willing to negotiate."
Posted by: Melinda | June 07, 2006 at 01:19 PM
Michael:
Heh. Well, nature's surely a mix!
Due to the proclivities and philosophies of some of our friends (and the fact that my husband is a philosophical vegetarian), we have fairly frequently found ourselves in conversations about nature, natural things, all natural, etc. etc.
Sometimes the rhetoric gets a bit much for me, as when someone says, well, if it's all-natural or in nature, it must be good, and beneficient (with the implication, if it's man-made, it's bad and inferior).
To which I always reply in some variation along the lines of, "Well, hemlock is natural. Roaches are natural. Piranhas are natural. Rattlesnakes are natural. Hell, dog shit is all natural. Doesn't mean I wanna ingest, play with, or take any of that stuff home with me."
Luckily, those sectors of our larger circles are used to me, and thus they humor me.
Posted by: reader_iam | June 07, 2006 at 04:43 PM
LOL- iam!!
Saw a tiny fledgling, learning her flight gear- and thought of you, amba. She was so tiny and beautiful- brownish stripes and so delicate, but fierce.
I caugth her, for she would get stuck under something in the garage- and after showing all my kids- we let her fly up into a huge pine tree- to plan her next trip.
Also, wanted to share a sentence w/you. Ambula cum Deo, amba. W/lots of extra ~spem~!!
Posted by: karen | June 08, 2006 at 11:32 PM
Thank you, Karen.
Posted by: amba | June 08, 2006 at 11:53 PM
"Probably it's the long-lost creator of the retina and the visual cortex, which for far too long haven't seen -- and had forgotten -- the level of complexity they were made to appreciate."
Good guess, I'd say. I remember feeling like this during the few years i lived in urban environents, on rare occasions when i made it out into the woods.
Posted by: Dave | September 01, 2006 at 03:24 PM
y'know, Karen writes a little like Emily Dickinson.
Posted by: amba | September 03, 2006 at 12:35 PM