As I began my walk, I immediately noticed one thing: dandelions. I don’t know how they do it every year, but they come in droves. Seriously, there were a lot of dandelions. And by that I mean you could fill a parking lot with them and still have more left over. I just don’t understand how they get here, or their purpose.
I know that they have two forms: puffy and yellow. Puffy blows its seeds throughout the world from its poof-like top, and yellow does nothing. It’s rather stupid, really.
As I was thinking about dandelions and their unnecessary existence, I was alerted to the sounds of mocking. I looked around, wondering where it could be coming from, when I spotted it: a whole pack of robins sitting on a tire, yelling at me. Y’know, you never notice the smaller birds until they start making fun of you.
I marched toward the robins, ready to give them a piece of my mind, but I guess their bird brains were enough for them, as they flew off once I made my first step. Whatever. That’s their loss, not mine.
Continuing on my way to the park, birds were everywhere. Birds on the houses, birds on the fences, birds in the sky. And every single one yelling at me with their signature calls. I couldn’t tell if I was a pariah or a celebrity, but I’d say the chances of the latter were mighty slim.
Notably, there were two robins, picking worms and hopping around with their funny stop motion way of moving. I saw a nest right next to the door of the house they were in front of, just like the one we have on our house. I guess the birds talk to each other.
As I neared the park entrance, I saw a rock on the ground. I decided to play that game everyone has played at least once, “Kick the Rock as You Walk!™.” At the first kick, however, the Rock decided I played too rough and left me all alone once more. I looked for it, but the Rock had clean disappeared – like magic. Some people…
Once I got to the park, I decided to pay more attention to my surroundings, to get a better view of what goes on beyond my field of vision. All this yielded was an odd looking tree. The tree in line with the other trees at the park’s entrance – presumably planted there a long time ago by some kids and their parents to “give back to nature” – was odd. It had what looked like a smaller tree growing into it, leeching its nutrients away like an arboreal parasite.
Appalled, I quickly walked to the playground.
On my way, I felt some bite or slap on my finger, but when I looked around, nothing was there besides the faint sound of buzzing. That’s when I got worried. In my haste to escape the horror of the wood leech, I neglected to observe my surroundings. I was surrounded by small wildflowers. I looked around slowly, trying to hide my panic. At least two dozen bees buzzed around me! I had to get somewhere safe, like the marsh up ahead.
I gingerly moved my feet, the bees watching my every move. Carefully, I scanned the ground, so as to not incur their wrath. I ran like a fool until I could feel splashing under my feet. The bees would never follow me somewhere so wet. I laughed at the bees and commended myself on my ingenuity. Then an admirer flew over to say hi and get some blood, so I went back to bolting until I got to the park.
Once I got there I sat down, exhausted. The birds continued their chant, making me feel no better. Resting there, I caught my breath and reflected on my journey and everything I encountered: The terror of the dandelion menace, the birds with their incessant mocking, the Rock who left me alone, the tree leeched upon by its own kind, and the bees and mosquitoes, and their fiery tempers.
I decided on something very important, of which this experience had taught me more than anything else.
I hate nature.
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Jeremiah G., an 18 year old with high functioning autism, lives with his parents, three younger brothers, and his beloved dog Lily in Indiana. A long-time Christian and homeschooler, he loves reading, but really isn't a fan of writing, even though his parents insist he's good at it. He is great with words and impressions, has a killer sense of humor, and cherishes his anonymity.