perspective near the bridge and questions of "mine"

Friday, January 17th, 2014; 1:44 p.m. 

I chose my spot to be a bit far away from the parking area so I could automatically build in more exercise for myself. It also gives me an opportunity to switch from busy, working mode to observation mode. I paid more attention to the places I passed on the way to my spot--bridges, of course, and the stream that may be part of the stream near my spot or may be a different one entirely. 

Maybe I'll try to follow it one day and see where it leads. 

I found a picnic spot for when it gets warmer. I found traces of humans, a once-lit candle. A proposal? A seance? An experiment? 

The walk this time seemed to take longer than it did last time. Maybe because I knew exactly where I was going this time and last time was a search. 

There are a lot less people here today running because it's Friday, not Saturday. The stream sounds the same but the sheets of ice that sporadically covered it last time are gone now. The sun is actually shining through behind me today. 

It makes shadows of the rock and me. 

The rock is still cold.

Coming to my spot today felt a little like coming to an old friend's house--a place I recognize and that I associate with positive feelings. I remolded myself onto the rock and it felt like getting into bed at night--familiar and good. 

I have been thinking a lot about ownership over place this week. It began with Ashton Nichols's explanations about the use of Yellowstone and our human desire to preserve open space for the sake of having open space--so that rich, white mostly male people can enjoy what they consider "wilderness". In order to preserve Yellowstone in this way, indigenous Americans had to be removed from the land--there are still burial sites and remains from ritual events present within the park. 

It is such a complex dilemma, one I started thinking about last semester after reading John McPhee's Encounters with the Archdruid. Do we preserve space because we think open "untouched" space is important? For the future? For its own sake? Or is it more important to allow people to live on the land, to use the natural resources provided in these places, to the let the land live and breathe (and be used) as it normally would, unprotected? 

This is not just an issue in the U.S. but especially in South America, as well. I want to learn much more about this. I want to be able to form my own opinion after understanding perspectives from both sides because right now, I'm not quite sure what I think. 

And bringing that back to my dear rock, my dear rock, I wonder about ownership and connection to place on, perhaps, a smaller scale. 

I have already become protective over my spot. This view is my view, the ritual of writing here is mine. But this place is mine and everyone else's and no one's all at once. 

My dad came from Virginia to visit me in Pittsburgh this weekend. I thought about bringing him here to show him my spot (he's following my blog so he would understand), but I hesitated. I wasn't sure I wanted to do that. If it became actively shared, would it change? What if he didn't think it is awesome as I do? Why is this place so sacred to me? Why do I claim ownership over it? 

It's supposed to be snowing, but it's not. It's still in the thirties, though. My right hand is gloved, but my left hand, doing the writing, starts to feel thick and unwieldy with the cold, the slowing down of blood. The leaves on the ground are much drier than they were last week--lighter in color and pulled apart from each other. The stairs seem brighter, too. Not dark from the wetness. 

I still hear the cars in the distance but the stream is closer. I close my eyes and together they play a cord. 

I have fallen in love with this spot when it is in the sun. It pops alive, the leaves no longer blend together but stand up as individuals. The trees seem bolder, more opinionated. The place becomes a grand natural ballroom. 

I wonder what the ground looks like five feet below me. What kind of rock am I even sitting on? When were these stairs added? Now that I am more familiar with the place's aesthetics, I am wanting to know its story. What do you have to say? What can you tell me? Where do the leaves go in the summer? No one blows them away, right? Or do they? Do they dry up and go somewhere else? 

The rock in front of me is layered. What is it layered with? What gives it its color?

Where do all the little rocks come from? 

I wonder how many times the sun has shone on the bridge. What does the moon look like on its side? 

I am beginning to get a sense for the magnitude of time and staying still and I feel how fast I am in comparison. Too fast. 

The flower just is. 

I move off my big rock and begin to move towards the bridges. I turn around after thirty seconds. 

I have never seen the rock from this side. I have never approached my spot from this angle. It changes. The world takes on a new dimension. I see the place now like a kaleidoscope shift. 

I decide now that I will try to see my spot, the rock from a new angle each week. 

I will climb and bend and lie down. 

a clue into the history that I will explore soon...

I will walk and turn and reveal a new layer with every move. 

I will rock-sit.

I will write. 

Maggie