Vista 10

November 30, 3:30pm

Today I climb the hill by the cement steps of my tree-house stairs. I can see my spot, the cold flat grass, the sudden drop where I like to hang my legs. It’s all above me now, coming into my line of sight as I heave my book bag, take another breathy step. Once I reach the top, I’ll look back down, down over the hill of naked branches and dead leaves, and over all of the houses and trees and cars and streets, as far as I can see.

But I’m not excited, not like I am every other week. The stairs today seem shallower. Are there less of them? Pausing on a step, I look out to what in summer was dense forest. Even last week, I thought the vines and branches wild, a little bit of jungle oasis amidst the likes of a city and the manicured campus. But the trees seem sparse. I think of Connecticut, where I’ve just been before these steps, before this walk, one sleep and a long drive ago. Sitting in my backyard, I’m overwhelmed by the towering trees, so dominant that sky is allowed through only a small gap between their heads. I exhale, and my breath reaches out, constantly expanding toward the woods, never returning. In the night, the crickets and frogs croak and buzz, and it seems the sounds echo forever, but no, it’s not an echo.

I pass a lone plastic bottle, half buried in the dirt. I wonder if students on this campus pick up trash when they see it like this, if they make the effort. At home I pull it from the ground, angry at its impurity. “Jon you better go get those beer bottles from our woods,” I tell my brother. “At least have some respect toward the woods, if you don’t have it toward anyone else.” Now I walk past the plastic bottle. This defiance is conscious, though I’m not sure who it’s towards. Not the ground, surely. I feel guilty.

I cannot sit on my usual bed of grass unless I want to get muddy. The pathway that snakes around the garden of bending reeds is drowned in puddles. I stumble around them, wondering why they haven’t frozen over yet. The air is still so warm, I realize. These puddles should be frozen by now.

The pathway is flooded, and so I stomp across the soggy grass toward another set of stairs, the ones that lead toward the school. I’m done here for today. At the top I’m halted. I Take a heavy breath and turn back to face the valley of winding streets, unfamiliar, dead end turns. On the steps, orange tape and a yellow construction excavator block my path.