Nature Blog Post 4

           Today, Nikki and I left the cul-de-sac. As we made our way around the circle, Nikki tugged on the leash to go off down the bluff. Instead of resisting, I followed his pull, careful to not slip on the steep embankment. He decided to lift his leg and pee as I gained some momentum, heavy step by step. He proved to be an inefficient anchor, having lost some balance from his lifted leg, and as I went bounding down the hill the swift yank of the leash flopped him over. He quickly spun to his feet and ran down the rest of the hill barking at my thundering feet.

            I expected to stumble to the edge of a woods. As Nikki and I avalanched down the hillside, I never looked past my own step. Nikki and I found ourselves again on pavement, another road, slopes of sod on either side, stretching almost out of sight. A blue house was barely visible, looking to be about a mile ahead. The road was a steady incline, slowly revealing more of the blue home. A quarter mile, adjacent windows. A half mile, the beginnings of a doorway. The single home split into a whole row of homes. I could now see the street sign—Yale Street. I realize where we are; I've been meaning to return.

            In the yard of one of these homes is an ancient maple. It would take three of me to wrap around it, arms stretched to their widest. Its roots cut through the pavement at the end of the yard. Thick moss covers its sagging gray bark. A few yards away, in the front of the garage, a circular hole in the pavement reveals a flush of green.

            When we return home, Nikki won't stop scratching himself. I call him, and he hops up onto the coach. I pull him to my chest and look at where he's been gnawing. I see the scurry of three fleas. One flea jumps from out of sight, and I can hear the pop of its springy legs. I jump as it rockets past my nose. I take out the vacuum and sweep the apartment—fleas are tough little critters, and I'm stocked to the teeth, ready to do battle. As I vacuum, I let the tub fill. Nikki's moppy hair deflates in the bath.

            How strange it is to experience the boundaries disappear. Our domesticities cannot block out nature. Lately, no new stinkbugs have come into the apartment. However, from time to time, I hear a shriek—Jenna has found one in a sock. Neither can nature keep us out. We fringe its borders with our pavement, weigh it down with homes. We encounter bits of each other, always surprised. You can see it in the wounded deer, the broken water pipe, the birds nesting in the chimney, the green eking its way through cement. This is the promise: not that we will seek each other out, but that we will always crash into one another.