Perpetis Stream

 

Seed. Root. Sprout. Flower. Reproduce. Expire. Repeat.

 

The blazing heat of the sun beats down and shoulders its way between the layers of her dress, soaking in with a heavy weight. She tugs at the collar with her free hand uncomfortably, trying to create a breeze. Her shock of golden hair makes her fit in more with the flowers up front than among the dim garments of the mourners.  She squints her eyes and peers past her mother’s knees, scanning the faces that sit atop the black mass of the gathering. Only the headstones return her gaze. Wrapping her chubby fingers tighter around her mother’s hand, she turns her face upwards.

“Where’s –”

A squeeze to the hand cuts her off and she cries out as the gold circlet on her mother’s ring finger brands her palm. Her mother’s gaze remains dead ahead, fixed on some nonexistent spot beyond the priest.

“Shhh. Not right now, sweetie.”

The child tries to pull away but her hand is tightly grasped. Ruddy cheeks puffing out in a pout, she wanders with her eyes instead. She fixates on a wooden sign. Past the graves that dot the field and behind the weathered post rises a forest. The canopy casts an emerald shade on the path that cuts through the trees. A cool breeze makes its way between the trunks and stirs the girl’s curls.

She stands enthralled for the rest of the rites, a single face turned against the tide.

 

Seed. Root. Sprout. Flower. Reproduce. Expire. Repeat.

 

The sign has moss growing in its cracks now, but the dark print is still clearly visible: Perpetis Stream. She passes it with a quick gait, only slowing her pace when fully in the shadows of the forest. 

Approaching voices cause her to stiffen and shift to the edge of the path, pulling her school hoodie up around her face. She averts her eyes as a man passes by, chatty toddler in tow. Her feet continue along the forest floor as if by instinct. Avoiding all other paths, she emerges from the shade onto a brightly lit wooden bridge, water lapping at the edges. Her eyes squint in the sunlight. Glancing around, her eyes catch on a decrepit rock wall back a ways from the opposing bank. 

 

She feels heat radiating from the sun-warmed stone through the black of her pants, but leans back to remain in the shade of the maple. Her eyes stare dully ahead towards the blockage at the mouth of the pond. She stirs slightly, shifting her hands in her pockets, when the beaver approaches the dam from the lodge. After a careful inspection, it deems the stronghold to be faulty and fetches green branches from a fallen log. She turns her attention to the edge of the forest before her. Here and there are telltale tooth marks on old tree stumps. With the trees felled, bush-type vegetation has room to thrive, growing an assortment of reeds and berries with their own respective nibble marks. Even now, seedlings poke out from the loamy fringe, only just having taken root. An almost inaudible sigh passes her lips and is carried away by the breeze. The beaver builds on.

 

BRIIINGBRIIINGBRIIINGBRIIINGBRIIINGBRIIING–

 

Her hands fly out of her pockets with a yelp, and she pats herself down before sheepishly retrieving her phone. A cloud passes over her face as she glances at the screen. Her finger mashes down on “decline”. She sends a text instead. She hauls herself to her feet but remains by the maple tree for several minutes before she leaves, watching the beaver fight against the never-ending tide of water.

 

Seed. Root. Sprout. Flower. Reproduce. Expire. Repeat.

 

Peeping pervades the forest. In the depths of the trees, small pools reveal shiny heads with bulging eyes, sounding their deafening call to their heart’s content. Where the foliage fringes the main pond, the song is heard more strongly from the birds that flit from reed to reed. A red-winged blackbird trills, surveying the secluded peninsula before it. In the distance the girl appears. Panting slightly, she is covered with a thin film of moisture from the air around her. Her feet come to a stop as she scrunches up her face at the fork in the path. She remains there, expression blank, until faint voices call her back. The crossroads is empty by the time the group of sorority girls pass by.

She disturbs the blackbird when her path takes her to the edge of the pond. The peeping diminishes. After glancing around her, it becomes clear that the only exit from the spit of land is the path she had come by. She sits heavily on a fallen log and adjusts the brim of her baseball cap up a touch. The reflection of the gray sky largely overpowers the blue of her eyes. The storm of colors is mirrored on the water’s surface. With the birds keeping their distance, she turns her gaze to the distant beaver dam—but something moves just beyond it. Her eyes narrow in concentration. A small boy wanders across the water. Mild surprise registers as she realizes that the bridge is in plain sight of her seat, further across the pond. An older child rushes out after the first boy, and the two marvel openly at the view. She listens to their chatter, and though she slides further back on the log so that her clothes blend into the dark greenery, she doesn’t leave. After a time, the birds begin to approach again and their conversations blend with that of the distant children.

 

This time, when the phone rings, she answers it.

Not bothering with an introduction, she grumbles, “Yeah, I get it. I’ll come back in a bit.” There’s a pause as a voice crackles over the line. She grimaces. “I’m fine, okay? I’m… I’ll be back.”

She hangs up, finds her way back to the main path, and returns the way she came.

 

Seed. Root. Sprout. Flower. Reproduce. Expire. Repeat.

 

Branches dance in the air as a car roars past, spraying water up from the road as it goes. The muddy droplets join the fresh drizzle to coat a portion of sidewalk connecting two houses. Behind the toys littering the thin strip of yard, a patch of bright red appears from behind the trees. Pulling her fluorescent raincoat hood up, the traveler pokes her head out from the leafy canopy and curiously takes in her location. 

She steps out from the mouth of the path and listens to the muffled sounds of television and small children. Closing her eyes, she can even identify the gurgle of the now distant stream. She glances at her watch and her eyebrows raise, accompanied by a slight smile. Crossing the yard to the sidewalk, she picks a direction and sets off.

 

Seed. Root. Sprout. Flower. Reproduce. Expire. Repeat.

 

The whispers of the forest are broken by the distant crunch of leaves. A lone chipmunk pricks up its ears and scurries out of the dirt pathway. With the footsteps slowly growing louder, two figures eventually round the bend and continue on their way, silently pondering their paused conversation. Eventually the taller one, hair glowing in a disorganized frizzy halo around her head, opens her mouth to speak.

“I think it’s the opposite for me. Taking walks like this doesn’t give me more time to think; it gives me time where I don’t have to think about anything at all. To just… experience being.” The girl waves her umbrella vaguely at her surroundings for emphasis.

The other one smiles slightly and begins to respond. By this time, he’s wandered too far into the woods to be heard by anyone but his companion.

 

Seed. Root. Sprout. Flower. Reproduce. Expire. Repeat.

 

Rain steadily drums on what stubborn leaves are left on the trees. Insects and animals alike huddle in their burrows. Only a couple ducks brave the waters. The girl, without nature’s protection, deflects the rain with a teal umbrella. She pays no heed to the soaked state of her pant cuffs. Instead, her pained look is directed toward the crooked clumps of branches in the stream. As she watches, the water rushing by the largest bunch drags a short log out of the pile and takes it downstream.

 

A middle-aged man, dressed in well-worn waders, strolls out from the woods on the opposite side into the inclement weather. The girl flinches.

“Halloa there! Shocked by the low water level, are we?” He grins in a sort of lopsided genial manner. Her shoulders slowly release their tension.

“Uh… yeah, it kind of threw me off. What’s up with…?” She looks back at the broken dam.

“That’d be me.” A soft chuckle rumbles in his chest as he follows her gaze. “It’s too bad, really. But someone had to. I’m part of the maintenance crew ‘round these parts,” he offers sheepishly.

“But why?” Cringing at the pointedness of her words, she tries again. “It just seems so irreverent, I guess. That dam shaped the whole landscape around here. Wouldn’t breaking it mess with the ecosystem?” The man listens to her with raised brows, wiping raindrops off his face as he joins her on the bridge.

“Y’worried about the beavers? They’ll be just fine. Those lil’ critters have dealt with a helluva lot worse in the decade they’ve been here. The pond isn’t going anywhere; It just needs to flow more freely sometimes. If we let ‘em keep building up, the water would’ve started to rot the bottom of this bridge. Can’t have that happening.” Leaning on the railing, he gazes out at the rushing stream. She joins him, deep in thought.

“I guess you’re right.”

 

They watch the water in silence for a while. Her eyes follow the water from the pond to the spot where it rounds a corner, out of sight. She scrunches her nose as she fixes her gaze intently on that area of disappearance, as if trying to see beyond to the forests that the stream continues on to. Finally, with a stretch and a reposition of her umbrella, she steps back.

“On your way back, eh? Do you come ‘round here often?”

“Yeah. I mean—I used to. I think I’m done with these walks for a while.” She flashes a smile at the maintenance man as she turns towards the path home. The man watches her disappear into the woods, stepping lightly in time with her humming despite the muddy ground.

He turns back to the water and continues the tune for the next several minutes, brow furrowed. After a while his face relaxes into a grin.

“Vivaldi’s ‘Spring’. Interesting.”

The rain seeps into the leaf-laden forest floor.

 

Seed. Root. Sprout. Flower. Reproduce. Expire. Repeat.

 

The soft light just barely reveals the two people crouched on the bridge. Thick jackets pulled tightly around them, they lean into each other. The girl squints at the boy’s lips, trying to spot the mist he breathes into the chilly air. Story swapping, they converse for a while before slipping into silence, listening to the burbling stream. After a while the girl’s eyes focus on the broken dam protruding from the water in front of her. It glows silver in the moonlight, matching the ice formed around the edges. 

 

“You know why I started coming here?” His eyes widen at the question, then quickly squint as he grins.

“No dude, you never said. I can’t say I haven’t wondered, though. But I didn’t want to ask, in case… y’know…” He squirms a bit and she laughs.

“It’s fine,” she cuts in. Her lips purse as she grows more serious. “I wasn’t really sure myself at the time. Since then I’ve given it some thought.”

“I think it was because I needed a reset spot,” she says. “When things were overwhelming at home, I’d go here to have some time to get away from it all. Eventually I figured out how to deal with her outbursts better. I guess the whole ‘go touch some grass’ thing really works.” This time, the boy is the one to chuckle.

“But did you reset by suppressing your emotions, or processing them?” he muses. Her coat makes a soft zzzp as she turns her rosy face away and hesitates. Glancing at the remains of the dam, she sits up straighter and refocuses on him.

“I’m definitely processing them now. Sometimes you just gotta let things go.”

They pull each other closer as the moon lowers towards the horizon.

 

Seed. Root. Sprout. Flower. Reproduce. Expire. Repeat