They danced above me. I was in a group but yet I felt the sweet contentment of being alone. They circled around me and fluttered in my ears. The pure sound was that of nature, of sensing, of feeling; of the leaves falling to the ground. These natural art pieces were that of the oak trees I walked under, on my way to an area even more fluent in the tongue of nature. One spotted leaf rested on my right shoulder as I pranced down the sidewalk reaching my destination: the lake. The sun hindered my vision, the opposite of its calling to life. The lake rested but not yet smoothly. Small, tiny peaks- like miniature mountains glided on the wet, slapping surface. An abundance of life was array underneath the liquid ballerinas dancing passionately across their stage.

This area, more prone to the grip of the invisible current, gently pulled the leaf off of my shoulder and landed its flight on the water’s surface, framing it with growing ovals. This destructed the path of the mini- mountains, but created many more to observe. The smell of the fresh air, the wind in my hair and the water’s journey reminded me of my existence. The air that flowed into my lungs from the nature I was momentarily fixated on was soon to disappear. For, yet again, as all us humans do, I was on my way back into another man-made facility with bricks and an air conditioner. I was left in a classroom, waiting for the next time I could observe the nature I was missing.