Salt Marsh Meditations - Jonas Miller 04/01

In the early portions of spring, as the weather begins to turn and flowers raise their weary heads, the opportunity for meditation becomes sublime. After all, the mosquitoes have not yet found themselves in a state of hunger. In a desperate attempt to escape the sounds of the urban realm, I traveled across the monolithic James River Bridge to find serenity and solitude in the windblown grasses of the salt marsh in Ragged Island Wildlife Management Area. Early in the morning I leave my trusty '98 Ford Ranger at the parking across from the Raceway gas station and venture into the forest beyond. 

The air is cool and crisp as the sunlight percolates through the barren branches above, casting highlights on the small green buds that signal spring's return. Dozens of birds echo through the forest, their voice's translation lost to me yet carry a deep meaning I do not quite understand. I wonder how much more I would understand had I been brought up in their company, listening to the sounds of robins and crows over automobiles and train whistles. Such thoughts can carry a pessimistic tone, though that is not my intention. I seek out the birds to listen to them now and I am happy. 

As the elevation the forest rests upon sank towards saltier, muddier soil, the community of birds and wildlife around me changed in suit. Freed from the silhouette of the oaks and pines, I can see the gulls and vultures as they meander through their highways in the sky. Closer to the ground, a small white butterfly playfully glides through the wind in its own respect. A praying mantis extends its arms to me, faithful that I would leave it to its cordgrass. Under other circumstances I may have disturbed the creature; today is for immerse observation. 

I continue on my walk, reuniting with another forested place. Greenbriar and thickets stretch between the trunks of the trees above, fighting for the light that escapes towards the forest floor. I give thanks to the deer and coyotes who maintain this trail for me. I presume that now, considering the comparative lack of human trash and shotgun shells, I have moved passed the heavily trafficked portions of the land. In a patch of sun-soaked leaves I see two little brown skinks, whose small chests are pressed against one another in a bought of combat or romance. Time slows down as the two tiny lizards fight for their world, ignorant to everything but the other. 

Eventually, my trail takes me to the edge of a pond unlike the marsh around it. This small, unassuming body of water bears a unique trait, seeing as its salinity is rather low. In the midst of a salt marsh, this sanctuary provides countless creatures with the golden opportunity to partake in the elixir of life. I come to the edge of the pond and sit against the trunk of a powerful pine tree, brushing away the abrasive holly leaves to give myself comfort on the forest floor. In the midst of the shallow pool I notice a familiar face: a common snapping turtle, whose epic size and power reflect decades spent in salt marsh meditation. I wonder what all I could learn from such a beast, whose eyes have born witness to a history lost to time. 

I spend some time at this pond. Eventually, the routine of life beckons me back to reality and I reluctantly rise from my pine, which I had come to find quite comfortable. I turn towards the South and notice a prominent collection of branches and sticks high above the forest floor and, as if bothered by my gaze, an eagle takes forth in flight from its home. I watch in awe as the impressive bird extends its powerful wings through the air, moving away from me without a substantial degree of haste. The song of the marsh is heard with more than the ears, sharing with the true listener a symphony found in the echoes of every living thing.