Perception

It’s 8:30 a.m., but I’m already sweating as Jackson and I begin our walk to the small forest behind ASRI’s organic garden. Today’s mission is to plant 10 pitfall traps within this 100m stretch of land. I’m his field assistant for the morning, so I carry my backpack filled with stakes, plastic cups, and rain covers. At some point in the last few days I agreed to this, and at the moment I’m not sure why. But there’s a spring in my step because, if nothing else, this excursion means a few hours less of sitting hunched over my computer.

A leaking bottle of isopropyl alcohol drips on my hand as we trudge, and feels startlingly cool as it dries. Gibbons call from the nearby mountain, flies buzz around my ears, and the sun continues to rise. Monkeys leap from tree to tree overhead and we see swinging branches, but nothing else. Invisible in the leaves, they are a supernatural force moving high above us.

We reach the edge of the plot: a small creek filled with fallen trees, ferns, and grasses, and are about to find a way across and start our work when Jackson realizes he’s forgotten his compass. “I’ll stay here and enjoy the nature,” I say sarcastically as he leaves. But as his footfalls fade and I settle into my surroundings, I feel happier than I have in days.

Behind me an old wooden building crumbles slowly into the ground. In front, tall Acacia trees sway, silhouetted by the sun. I sit on a fallen log and pick up a thin, bouncy length of bamboo. It’s shaped like a fishing pole and I sit, amused, pretending to fish in the creek. Here in the shade, it’s almost cool. The sunlight is pale and silvery. Fat beads of dew cling to spider webs and leaves. And as I watch, quiet and still, my focus begins to shift. From the webs to the dew to the haze behind the trees, my perception becomes liquid and flows through the planes, alight and fresh and in motion. I poke a wide green leaf with my fishing pole and the beads of water dance, jiggling in place, and reflect sparkling light into the webs above. The shadow of the pole cuts the grass below into neon ribbons, shifting with the breeze. Metallic ants crawl over the vegetation at my feet. The translucent wings of flies flick in and out of sight. Two birds flush suddenly from nearby ferns, and the air is thick with the hum of life. 

I remember being small and searching for fairies. Knowing they weren’t real but wishing so fervently it almost hurt- convincing myself that maybe, maybe if I looked in the right places, or if I really paid attention, they would grace me with a sighting.

As I sit on my fallen log in the flickering morning light, I search again. And I see them now, flying around me, buzzing and singing and full of life. That glinting red dragonfly at the bottom of the creek, balanced lightly on a branch with its long, dainty wings. Those spiders catching the wind and flying on their webs, and the blue flies that land at my feet. They’re the same as they were and have always been, but are now the creatures I seek.