Thursday Writer's Post #17
She walked through the anger. She walked through the pain. She walked with determination. She walked with purpose. She was walking away. She had “had it”. Enough was enough, as Mom would say.
The day was brisk. Autumn, her favorite month. Billowing leaves fluttered like multicolored butterflies on the wind. The sun didn’t really shine as much as it enhanced. The sun wasn’t warm, simply illuminating. This was her kind of weather. No snow, yet. Just a tease of the colder weather to come and a great relief from the overbearing summer months. She barely noticed.
She walked through the anger. Why did she allow this to upset her so much? It was eating at her guts! Fists flexed, fingers curled and uncurled. The light breeze lifted her hair and mussed it ever so slightly. Hands shoved deep into her pockets. She walked blindly, walking through the pain.
“Anguished. I am filled with anguish”, she thought. How did I ever let things get to this point? Through the park which had been a favorite haunt for as long as she had lived in this area. The park with the stately trees, the smell of freshly mown grass, and the ever blooming flowers. The groundskeeper had been seen occasionally replacing plants that had been severely trampled. By and large, the groundskeeper kept such a well manicured park, most patrons were careful to preserve as well as enjoy the park.
The wind beat a pretty pattern on her face. Her cheeks had become rosy. Her round eyes had begun to tear up giving her that “calf eyed” look. Other than the crease between her brows, simply glancing at her you would not know how very upset she really was. She walked with the pain in her heart. She walked determined to move forward. She was walking away.
As ever, as she walked she began to calm down. As she walked the initial anger slid away giving her an opportunity to view the situation from a objective stance. As she walked she was able to step sideways from her emotions to view the occurrence from “without”.
She pushed on, reflecting on the day’s events. Marveling at the audacity of those around her. Gall. It takes real gall and a lack of empathy to be able to handle yourself with that little respect for another person.
I watched my sister struggle with her emotions. I watched as she yearned to tell someone exactly what she was thinking, in no uncertain terms. I chuckled thinking about the last time that happened. It didn’t turn out well for either party….
My sister is an animal rights advocate. She can get along much better with a black bear than she can people. This latest endeavor has been nerve wracking. My sister is a mere 4’9”, Liz Taylor violet eyed, red headed Tasmanian Devil! She could move mountains, normally by shear will power. Sometime she utilized tact and manipulation, sometimes. Ok, seldom. But, she had utilized tact once and I had been there to witness it. This was one of those times she was really putting forth the effort.
The Blanchard's Cricket Frog is a small, warty-skinned frog (0.6-1.5 inches adult length) that is usually tan, brown, gray or olive green, sometimes with scattered green, reddish, or black blotches and a broad light stripe down the back. A dark triangular mark is usually visible between the eyes on top of the head. It has a distinctive breeding call consisting of a rapid series of metallic clicks, similar to the sound made when two pebbles or marbles are tapped together.
As my Aunt Jackie would say “Not many people shiv a git”. This small frog used to live near where we grew up. We played with these mighty midgets for hours before letting them got back from whence they came. They no longer breed in northern Michigan. Cass City is the last known vestige.
Blanchard’s Cricket Frogs typically inhabit the open edges of permanent ponds, lakes, floodings, bogs, seeps and slow-moving streams and rivers. They also can utilize temporary water bodies if near permanent water. They prefer open or partially vegetated mud flats, muddy or sandy shorelines, and mats of emergent aquatic vegetation in shallow water. Blanchard's Cricket Frogs also can be found in farm ponds, drainage ditches and gravel ponds, although polluted water is poorly tolerated. This frog is thought to be the most aquatic of North American treefrogs and usually does not leave the vicinity of water after the breeding season except during rainy weather.
Too bad for the frog. One of the last holdouts is scheduled for the construction of a cement breakwater for the high rise condos at the shoreline of this little pond/lake wannabe. The contractor intends to dredge the pond, lay break water, and make this a site for the up-and-comers of the community. My sister doesn’t have much use for “progress”. At least not progress with this high of a cost.
The last time that anyone had recorded even hearing that frog, much less seeing it, was two years ago. TWO YEARS AGO! And that was a recorded “hearing” not “seeing” this tiny tree frog. So we fight to have the site survived prior to excavation. I must admit, it seems a small concession on the part of the builder. It seems like such a little thing to allow a group to verify either the existence of or the omission of this little critter. However, what if there is one….just one. Oh boy, that would cause a commotion! No doubt, the land would not be available for building. No doubt, the contractor would be losing considerable sums of money. I guess he should have checked it out prior to advertising the impending construction. Perhaps he did and he just didn’t figure someone like my sister into the plans.
That’s why I watch her from a distance. As she is walking away, I survey the people and the landscape around her. I ensure the fighter will be here again tomorrow. I am the enforcer, you might say. She fights the big fight, I make certain no one takes advantage of her distracted state of mind. I am the enforcer.