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Through the Other's Eyes
By Wayne Donley
As if from forth a dark cavern, in the morning, my heart awakens within me to the light of the sun with a ferocious yawn directed eastward. I am awake, alive; I am free. I am free to roam the mountain's side, its
ridge, its waters. I can travel at leisure and with purpose.
In fact, my purpose is to travel, ever mindful of any darting movements that glint in my attention's span. I often stop and listen with a calmness and stillness as though I were listening for a flitting wing in a low
bush two hundred miles in the distance.
The day continues and I with it -- one with the mountain upon my daily trek. The sun climbs higher and my senses heighten with the living mountain activity. I keep to the shade. Stealth am I. And when I appear in
intervals, into the light, as ruler, hunter supreme, reigning king; golden color cloaks me from most eyes.
My feet, strong as brass, are as soft on the forest floor and upon granite rock as a down feather might rest upon these surfaces on a windless day.
The early afternoon heat demands worship from most living creatures, not with-standing me, and makes my head and body weary, yet I grow not faint at heart. I am tired and must nap so I seek the solace of a low large
tree branch to sit in and close my eyes in dream remembrance of that cool cavern from which I spring eternally each day, each life.
It cannot get much hotter than today, yet despite this, within the embracing arms of this tree and shade I drift into a cadence of images that blend with an oncoming breeze; swayed on this bough my sinewy muscles
relax and simultaneously remain attentive to the position that I am in.
A noise from within, or is it from without, startles me and I prop up, full attention; a large predatory bird is circling the sky-screeching, its eyes cast to the ground. This is my moment? I spring from the tree,
lithe in movement, and run upon the ground to the area in which I think the bird is calculating its vision. It is a marmot that the predator spies which I, too, spot. I observe. I slowly get closer, moving my way
toward the unfolding drama. Then, with lightning speed the bird descends unwary of my presence, focused upon its prey, sickle talons prepared to engage; it strikes and holds on leaving the marmot without further
motion -- alas, my presence is too far off from this scenario. My role remains visual.
I roam, continuing through the end of day in the mountains a specialized hunter in my own way seeking my opportune moments. There has been much to see and experience today. The hot day fades, my cool refuge becomes
the night at the edge of a large blue body of water. The moon is rising on the eastern horizon, in the sky a full circle of reflected light, upon the water a ful circle of reflected light. The mirrored reality,
light, shines within my circular eye casting its own reflection once again, green I see mixed with silver somehow emanating from the abyss beyond the rippled glass surface.
I drink. It feels smooth. As I finish, I turn to see standing adjacent me on a rock, watching me, a tall, two-legged, dark figure. I respond in a guttural growl, my own speech which speaks of reverence and love of
life. The human need not fear me for I recognize by the reflected light in its eye that we share this realm, indeed are connected by that very light if not also by respect for living as exhibited by behavioral
demeanor.
I leave the beauty of the realm to the human as I silently ascend the boulders to my night throne, my dream cavern.
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