|tiny tree ferns|
|found some orange, a last autumn leaf|
So can the world around us. Exploring in the rain I felt a small part of such a large world. Maybe because the trails were empty and quiet, huge gray pines leaned precariously along cliffs, and the 700+foot tall bridge loomed above, but all the tiny things were abundant.
|UFO graffiti, complete with alien|
|For scale: I'm there, on the upper tier corner, a tiny figure in green.|
Raindrops glistened on leaves, the roar of the river below almost deafening, towering oaks covered in tiny ferns, the view from above of the beloved No Hands bridge, a tiny span in the distance.
|No Hands peeks from between oaks|
|No Hands and our tiny car|
|creeks to cross|
Sometimes I see the horrible impact we have made on this planet and feel despair. Plastic flotsam along the river bank, clearcut for a new development, burned truck along a trail, paving another oak woodland for a superstore. But usually it feels right to be in places where the human imprint feels a bit smaller.
|ferns and moss|
|yellow wildflower with tiny gnat too|
|a poppy stays closed until the sun reappears|
|3-leaved almost-shamrocks feel at home|
|even poison oak and lichen are lovely|
And given enough time, the trails will grow over, the roads crack, the bridges fall. Still the raindrops, leaves, flowers and creatures would go on.
|wild things doing the wild thing|
|watch your step: even banana slugs have the right of way here|
It felt good to be small. Some people feel more important when they see the things humans have built. Instead I prefer to enjoy what will still be there long after we are gone.
(If you want to read more on the subject, there is a great book about our lack of lasting impact: The World Without Us by Alan Weisman. I read it many years ago, and have read it again a couple times. Check it out!)