Short Story: Winter Walking

By: Mike Napolitano

“Can you imagine what it’s like under the ice right now?” I asked Anthony.

“It must be an entirely different world...suspended like that under ice.” Anthony seemed too lost in his own thoughts to continue his discourse on the pond. Although it wasn’t entirely frozen over, the pond had a thick layer of ice over the most of it. Anthony was kneeling at the edge of the pond and continued to stare directly into the center of it. He has a capability of appreciating nature that I could never match, and for that, I admire him. I could only imagine what he was thinking of. “You ready man?”

We turned and continued to move through the forest. I glanced over at the Hudson. All the trees were bare, allowing for a clear view of the river. I suppose the beauty of winter is that everything is in suspense and seems to move slowly. As we walked on, I continued to glance at the river watching the ice drift along with the current. The snow in front of us was completely untouched. With every step we took, we were creating a new mark upon the earth. I was so tranquil; it was almost as if every step I took away from Marist was a step away from all the homework, problems, and drama of student life.

I always looked forward to the next opportunity I had to walk through the woods with Anthony as my guide. He was the one who first showed me the splendor of a simple hike, to be able to walk through the plants until you felt a relaxing solidarity with nature. Anthony always told me about his idea of ‘oneness,’ which he said to be the feeling of being part of the whole, to feel compassion for everything around you. To me, it seemed like Anthony drew his entire spiritual being from his experiences in nature and I wanted to understand that.

As we meandered through the woods, we approached a ridge that I thought was going to lead to a severe drop but when we reached the edge of the hill, I realized that it wasn’t at all steep. Amazingly enough, the hill led down to a gully where a small creek appeared to have formed. I had never seen anything like it. The water was flowing between trees, through roots, around trunks, past piles of sticks, mounds of dirt. It was as if nature intended to connect all the water together by using the landscape as a path; the bare, vertical trees provided a labyrinth-like grid for the water to flow through.

Anthony and I approached the creek. It must have stretched about a quarter mile. The creek was odd, though, as it was only a few feet wide in spots while in others, it opened up to around ten feet. Naturally, Anthony and I went straight for the edge of the creek at the most narrow section as our acute sense of curiosity subliminally told us to. Approaching the creek, I glanced at Anthony and noticed a whimsical expression of glee on his face; he was evidently overjoyed at our discovery.

We walked between the trees, climbed over the roots, and hopped between the banks. After a few minutes, we both had our share of exploring the new terrain. I looked at Anthony and met his eyes behind his thick, unkempt beard. I could tell he knew what he wanted to do because, after all, nature is his forte. He smiled at me and sat, knees at the chest, on a downed branch. Following his lead, I kneeled next to a tree and used it as a back. Anthony had told me about his experiences meditating in the woods and I could tell that was what was on his mind.

Following his lead, I just sat. I closed my eyes and listened to the water capriciously flow through the roots of the trees. I was rapidly releasing all the stress that I had built up from earlier in the week. A part of me felt the flow of the water moving through my body, almost as if it was purifying me. I was meditating. I felt my mind becoming lighter than my body as if my troubled thoughts were escaping the confines of my skull. A surge of my spirit rushed through me, I felt revitalized.

I opened my eyes. The world was so very vibrant. Sounds were clearer, the water looked crisper, and the cool breeze felt so embracing around my bare cheeks. I reached down to touch the water. Letting it flow through my fingers, it felt as though the water was at its most basic form. Just touching the water was so incredibly refreshing. I took a deep breath allowing for the cold winter air to fill up my lungs. Never before had I felt so energized by a lungful of air. Through my sunglasses the snow was lustrous, the water was glistening. The world seemed to gleam before my eyes.

As I rose up from my crouching position, I noticed Anthony was also rousing from his rumination. There seemed to be an unsaid mutual agreement between us and we simultaneously turned back. It was the return trip back to the ‘real world.’ It was a very odd experience walking back. It seemed to take four times the amount of time to get to the creek as it took us to walk back. Uncharacteristic for Anthony and me, we didn’t talk much as we walked.

Much to our style we took a different route back. As we were crossing through a small field, we suddenly noticed something interesting above us. On the first branch of a nearby tree, we spotted a hawk. We found ourselves taken back by the new scenario that nature had given us. “What should we do?” I asked Anthony.

“I don’t know man…I’ve never been this close to a hawk. Let’s just wait for a few minutes.” So we stood in the field and watched this hawk watch us. The hawk was like no other creature I had ever seen in person. It had a large roundish torso that was mostly decorated with opal white feathers and a few other grey feathers mixed around the sides. Its eyes were particularly striking. They were brilliantly astute and it was evident that it could scan every inch of the ground even when flying above the trees.

It turned and spotted us. Anthony and I stared at this hawk staring back at us. The bird did not seem threatened by its human intruders; it was as if it was studying us as we were studying it. It seemed, in that one instance, a bird and two mammals shared a field, and nothing more happened. After the hawk was content, it turned and flew off in another direction. Watching the hawk fly away was a sight to behold. It happened so quickly but I won’t soon forget the astounding wing span it had. I couldn’t get past the fact that I was within twenty feet of a hawk.

Without a hawk to maintain our attention, we moved on towards Marist. Once we came within a few hundred feet of the end of the arboretum, we were greeted by a paved drive meant to allow access to St. Ann’s Hermitage. As the warm scent of brush left me, I was greeted by the dry, pungent scent of wet asphalt. We were still in the cover of the trees, but we were now on pavement. A minute later, the cover of the trees left us and I stared southward upon Fontaine, Dyson, Gartland, and the rest of the Marist campus.

The sight of the black pavement and its abrasive road paint assaulted my eyes almost as if it was a foreign design I had never seen before. The lack of tree cover forced all the unnatural colors of the campus back into my retinas. The noise of people and cars met my ears once again and the hustle and bustle of daily life was back to command my attention. My eyes begrudgingly adjusted, I returned home and started my homework.