Looking Closer

In the book, "Pligrimat Tinker Creek" Annie Dillard sat in her kitchen and wrote this about that moment, "A rosy, complex light fills my kitchen at the end of these lazy, June days. From an explosion on a nearby star eight minutes ago, the light zips through space, particle-wave, strikes the planet, angles on the continent, and filters through a mesh of land dust: clay bits, sod bits, tiny wind-borne insects, bacteria, shreds of wing and leg, gravel dust, grits of carbon, and dried cells of grass, bark, and leaves. Reddened, the light inclines into this valley over the green western mountains; it sifts between pine needles on northern slopes, and throug, all the mountain blackjack oak and haw, whose leaves are unclenching, one by one, and making an intricate, toothed and lobed haze. The light crosses the valley, threads through the screen on my open kitchen window, and gilds the painted wall. A plank of brightness bends from the wall and extends over the goldfish bowl on the table where I sit. The goldfish's side catches the light and bats it my way; I've an eyeful of fish-scale and star. This Ellery cost me twenty-five cents. He is a deep red orange, darker than most goldfish. He steers short distances mainly with his slender red lateral fins; they seern to provide impetus for going backward, up, or down. It took me a few days to discover his ventral fins; they are completely transparent and all but invisible-dream fins. He also has a short anal fin, and a tail that is deeply notched and perfectly transparent at the two tapered tips. He can extend his mouth, so that it looks like a length of pipe; he can shift the angle of his eyes in his head so he can look before and behind himself, instead of simply out to his side. His belly, what there is of it, is white ventrally, and a patch of this white extends up his sides-the variegated Ellery. When he opens his gill slits he shows a thin crescent of silver where the flap overlapped-as though all his brightness were sunburn."
 
The link below is the rest of the piece.... if you dare...
 
I challenge you to pick something, some small piece ot the the area you've been observing, to write about... research the weeds online... find out which kind of crabgrass you've been staring at... maybe the maple tree is of interest... pick one part of that small world and write...
 
Here's a sample of what another student wrote...
"

The snow berries hang in a cluster of three on a small thin branch, they are pure white.  Like bleached blue berries, they stand out clearly and conspicuously.  The Symphoricarpos albus berries have utter white pollen that looks in exact resemblance to snow.  That white “snow” is able to reduce swelling from eye infections and reduce redness from rashes.  The feel of the pollen actually feels like snow crunching beneath you fingers. That coveted pure whiteness on the berries does not occur till fall and winter.  The individual cells on the berries form together like a pattern. " - Kiara Moses

 
"
A tiny piece of mulch can help support an entire system of tree life. The small piece of decayed, torn up wood can supply nutrients and morsels to make all life healthier. The crabgrass and the trees can grow stronger due to all the nutrients that the mulch provides. The tree can become a lot larger and stronger due to extra nutrients. In a few decades the tree can grow large and strong and can support animal life. Squirrels and birds life can be supported around that tree. Moss over a long period of time can grow onto the tree which can be used as food for small mammals. That moss may even be used for a lost human in the forest. All of this chain of events is made possible by one tiny piece of mulch to support a whole ecosystem. The microscopic morsels that a piece of mulch can provide will help trees, crabgrass, and grasses all support an ecosystem. A further possibility may be that the mulch is dug and the tree dug up then the tree parts could be used for firewood or even to help construct a house. When a tiny piece of mulch full of unseen morsels can help build and support a full functional system of life then you know that anything ins this plant world can make a difference. " Taylor Shanda
 
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The Sky – by the Ever-Eloquent “eejay hardebeck”

 

The sky is big. Really big. I mean, you can't even begin to imagine the size of the sky which you can't imagine, because it is so big that you can't imagine it. So big, in fact, that if you were to put it into a Ziploc bag for easy storage, you would need a really big Ziploc bag. 510 million kilometers big, to be precise. It would be impossible to describe the entire sky in a mere paragraph. Or so you would think. However, today the sky is more monochrome than a 1950s movie. There is no difference anywhere, across the entire sky. No lone cloud meandering about, no single patch of nitrogen choosing to rebel and color itself in a different manner. Just GREY. Not even a particularly interesting shade of grey. Just that "blah" sort of grey that one might find on a piece of duct tape or the backside of an elephant. In addition to being grey, it is also very cold, being about fifty seven degrees. It is not the sort of day to go out for a picnic, it is the sort of day to throw yourself on a fire and hide from the cold. It is raining. Some rain is neat, when it pours torrentially and endlessly down from the heavens endlessly, pounding on your roof in a way that makes you think “I’m glad I have a roof.” But today’s rain is not that sort of rain. It is just boring rain, that is too soft to be interesting, but thick enough to get everything wet. It must be days like this that inspire people to write depressing poetry about suicide and ravens.  The school day is over, and so I have to leave the building and expose myself to the fury of nature. No, “fury” is the wrong word. That implies that something exciting is threatening you, such as a four headed troll. But today there is no excitement. There is only the threat of grey dreariness. I grit my teeth, and open the door.  As I walk outside, I am struck by a sudden glow. Everything out here is shining brilliantly, and I have to squint my eyes in order to see. It is warm. I glance upat the sky, and it is surprisingly blue. Bright blue. Children are laughing and skipping, and birds chirp in the distance as small, cute rabbits chase each other in the green grass at my feet. I exaggerate, but this is the feeling I get at the unexpected arrival of this new weather. Warm, unadulterated joy. I would never have guessed how suddenly fortune can shift. "