Day 7- Wild Things

Dust to Dust

Out of the dirt, a flower grows,

Petals unfurled to brighten the land.

Honeybees come to get their fill;

Pollinating flowers is a hard job,
but someone must do it.

Suddenly, it pollinates no more.

The bee is caught in a web of a spider

Strung up between stems.

A bird, spotting the spider, swoops.
The bird stops for flower seed dessert.
It flies away to a distant land.
Out of the dirt, a flower grows.

Journal Entry 7

Today, we didn't have a field trip, so we had a writing workshop about vignettes. To write a vignette, you start with a specific word or phrase and create a sort of web of words, connecting related words to the original inspiration. After a bit of practice, we wrote a vignette based on our creature image from Cox Arboretum (Day 3). For some reason, I wrote both vignettes from the perspective of animals. Later, we watched a movie about a biologist studying wolves in the arctic, called Never Cry Wolf. It was kinda sad; any movie that kills off animals is sad. 

Vignette 1

I am alert at the edge of the stream. I cock my head to listen for humans coming to hunt, while I myself am hunting for the sweet salmon in this water. A silver glint catches my eye and I swipe a wide paw into the water in a half-hearted attempt. It grazes my claw and swims faster now, terrified. The tantalizing scent of sweet berries is tempting me to give up, but I know the starvation of winter is coming. I need flesh. I focus on the river again. More fish flow by; I pounce. The icy shock of the mountain spring stuns me, so I quickly retreat with my prize. The fur of my legs is drenched and heavy and cold, but I am successful.

Inspiration Image

Vignette 2

The rock is warm beneath my feet, the late spring sun heating it pleasantly. My small ear twitches, hearing the soft thud of footsteps approaching. I hunch over, folding my arms across the white expanse of my soft, vulnerable belly. I feel the pitter-patter of my heart speed up as the steps grow louder. Closer. I can taste the metallic cold of fear; my brown, striped fur raises on end as I tremble slightly, the rock no longer pleasant. My perch has put me in plain sight of the giant creature. it sees me and approaches, slowly crunching the gravel, and with limbs outstretched as if to scoop me up and kill me on the spot. I am frozen, stuck, shaking all the way to the tip of my fuzzy tail. It does not cease. I will my legs to move, to break out of this sudden paralysis. it is close enough for me to smell the icy mint of it's breath. Finally, my legs are free of my invisible restraints, and I scramble away, leaving the creature behind.

My creature, the chipmunk