On the west-facing side of the tree, I found this perfect little nook to nestle into, slightly out of the wind. It was late afternoon, and the sun was warm on my face, the sky clear and blue.
Sitting with my back pressed against the bark of the poplar (which is said to be over one hundred years old), all I could hear was the wind. The wind buffeting in my ears, the wind in the leaves, the wind in the grass. The wind in the leaves sounded like rain clattering down on a tin roof. Autumn is definitely on her way. Dry, leathery leaves lay all around me with their sweet "leafy" fragrance - a distinct smell that only the brown leaves had.
The grass rippled as the wind shimmered through it. I can hear birds, some tweeting in the distance, another "cawing" from close by. I'm surprised that I don't hear the goats or the horses - I suppose
they are too far off.
The old tree really is amazing. It smells dusty, and the texture of the rough chunks of thick, coarse bark is incredible. Its leaves on other hand are thin and delicate, and from where I am sitting, they are translucent against the light.
Why do they do this? For the greater good of the colony? One has to ask, when did the greater good of our own communities stop being a priority for human kind?
Nearly everything around me is a different shade of green. The eucalyptus are a greyish green, the pines a somewhat deeper, richer emerald. The carpet of grass is greener now that it was a few weeks ago, the end of summer rains have washed off the dust. The chirqa, bent by the constant wind, is yellowing as it prepares to spread its seed, and the fallen leaves scattered on the grass are browning as they dry. The grass is mostly short now, due to the animals grazing, but there are some shrubs that remain uneaten and are growing tall.
The insect life around me is prolific. Ants, flies, spiders, wasps and bees. The ants that live on, in and around the tree are enormously industrious. One can actually hear them inside the bark if you press your ear against the tree trunk - tiny little scratchy sounds. I also licked a piece of bark that was the beginning of a new piece of ant "construction" in mud. It just tasted like sand. They crawl around on the bark, disappearing into the nooks and crannies on their seemingly predetermined paths. They have tracked little roads in the grass where they trek back and forth all day, everyday with their spoils. Why are they so hard working? They march long distances in their search for food, later returning to their holes with their complex inner tunnels (an architectural marvel) to share this food.
Why do they do this? For the greater good of the colony? One has to ask, when did the greater good of our own communities stop being a priority for human kind?Walking back towards the house, I noticed this little guy tucked away in the grass. As I took the picture, I realised that it's not really grass at all. The "grass" is made up of several little plants all growing together. There is some common grass, but it is mixed with other little plants including Carqueja (Baccharis (Compositae)) and Junquillo (Juncus capillaceus (Juncaceae)). Both plants are commonly used in herbal teas and remedies, and carqueja is well known for attracting bees.
One thing I notice for the first time is how the fences that we have put in break with the harmony of the layout of the farm. The same goes for the plantation of eucalyptus and the nieghbour's pine trees, they end abruptly and do not have the same sporadic growing areas as the other plant life.
The shadows were growing longer, and the wind was getting chilly... So I'll leave my seat at the foot of tree for the birds and the bees ... until tomorrow.
