Stories

I knew you wouldn’t mind if I paused to consider these petals.

To our eyes they seem rather bland. No bright markings or pleasing motif, nothing distinctive at all.

Why should it be otherwise? Nature designed them to attract a special kind of customer, who comes bearing pollen in trade for nectar, with eyes tuned to colors beyond our perception.

We like to think our powers of sight rank high among all creation.

We can look across a meadow at noon and see leafy details in trees. Gaze with delight at the sunset horizon as orange turns to red in the clouds. Peer into the night with tall telescopes and scrutinize alien worlds.

Yet the true artistry expressed by this flower — just an arms-length away — remains unseen to us.

Inquisitive, we collect a few specimens to inspect in a different light. This reveals an image the bee might see with its ultraviolet vision — patterns devised to entice gatherers buzzing by and guide them to the prize.

Our primate brains gain pleasure from discovering this clever invention of nature.

Perhaps in fair exchange we should grant the bee a glimpse through our telescope. It might enjoy a deeper look at the distant sky above.

The lion had followed us since breakfast. 

I thought it would have taken this trail anyway, and we happened to get ahead of it. You thought it was merely curious, or maybe wanted breakfast too.

Eventually it wandered off, losing interest in us. We were piqued at being given up so quickly. 

“Aren’t we good enough for a little stalking?”

“We’ve been snubbed by a mangy lion.”

What further insults did nature have in store for us? 

Not the birds, they couldn’t help themselves. All that chattering and fluttering about was simply how they spent their days, with or without us to bother. We endured their tiresome swooping as we hurried through their territory.

The insects were dreadful by design — adroit at avoiding our swatting, skilled at sneaking under clothing, and adept at endless biting in spite of our repeated slapping. They besieged us in swarms, naturally.

The wind snuck up, playing the trickster, and snatched off our hats, tossed dust in our eyes, and blew us off balance. You weren’t pleased. I was quite vexed.

The bubbling spring we were hoping to find was just a patch of weed-tangled mud that sucked off our shoes and threatened to pull us under if we didn’t leave it alone. Our water bottles went unfilled. 

The steep hill we climbed was covered in long flattened grass, slick with dampness, not a foothold to be found. After slipping to our knees again and again we finally crawled to the top — exhausted, wet, and fed up with the whole venture. 

Nature, in its way, had provided us with every reason to stay home. We gave that a long consideration.

Still, the view from here is lovely. Let’s come back soon.

We had crossed over the border, evading the armed soldiers who patrolled the woods. At least, we assumed it was the border. 

The lands in that wilderness were unmarked by any lines. Maps showed them, but we had lost ours days before in a windstorm. My fault, I admitted. You didn’t care.

We were following the tale about a lake where mountains plunged their roots deep under the icy water to dig for gems in the crushing earth, drawing them up through veins that glimmered when the sun lit the slopes.

“It should make a nice picture,” you said. But I had lost the camera too. Damn that skittish Arabian.

The last river we forded had a reputation — unknown to us — for surprising travelers with a surge of swirling mischief. Your horse handled it bravely. Mine spooked and tumbled me into the thieving current that carried off one of the packs.

We left both horses to graze in a meadow. I was happy to proceed on foot. You were sorry about the camera.

The next day we came to the lake. 

Two towering jewel hunters stood by the water and rumbled as they worked their stony fingers far below. Vertical streaks on their sides glowed under dull rock. At their bases grew a thriving forest. 

“This would have made a nice picture,” I said. You sighed.

The water itself glittered, hinting at treasures within reach. But we didn’t come for gemstones, we reminded each other as we explored the shoreline. No rubies, diamonds, sapphires or emeralds would tempt us away from our quest.

We had come there to know the unfathomable depths of a mountain’s desire. To let our minds follow their minds, in deeper still, where earth offers up the precious creations of its being. 

Hours we spent in tune with stone and water, alive to the mineral joys that energized this sublime labor. We would not have traded that insight for all the jewels in the land. Memories of the day, we agreed, enriched us as no earthly riches could.

But when you weren’t looking I took a bright pebble I found beside the lake.