A week or so ago, Mr. Bre took the Lit n’ the Land crew down to Gilman Park to find a metaphor in nature.
What an odd and, frankly, slightly irritating request. How in the hell do you find a metaphor in nature without sounding like a pseudo-intellectual-Mary-Oliver-wannabe?
I trudged over to spot along the river where gnarled thickets acted as the border between water and land. After scrutinizing the intricate patterns of bark on a birch tree and the different ways in which water ripples in hopes that a metaphor would unsheathe itself, I exhaled. This is supposed to be fun, but you’re turning this into your own personal hell.
When I’m out on an observation hike, I’m not always thinking about what type of bird is squawking or what kind of tree I’m resting against. Usually I’m thinking about my family or my future or a little something that gave me a smile that day.
While sitting there, aggravated, I thought of my mother and opened my eyes to metaphor right in front of my Crazy Creek. I pondered me and mother’s changing relationship: me growing fonder and fonder of her and finally realizing how valuable her guidance is.
In front of me are thickets- a cluster of saplings bent out, angled, reaching for the murky water. Above me is the sun- a mother to saplings, nourishment. The saplings so confident in themselves are yearning for the unknown depths of the river, turning their barkless backs on sanctuary and wisdom that the sun offers.
Happy Mother’s Day, Mom! Thank you for being my sun. I’m sorry it has taken me this long to comprehend how essential your beams of savvy sunlight are!