Nested in the Dogwood
by Annalily Charles

I have a perch in my backyard where I can crouch, poised, with feet aligned, and look out on the world of a small town, my neighborhood. Resembling the Chickadee's that share this dogwood, I sometimes sing low, to myself. Like Huckleberry Finn I dangle my legs over the contorted branches and watch the highways of ants, deliberately marching on. I swing higher and higher until I reach the more fragile top of the tree, where I am quiet, inspecting the pure clean whiteness of its large four-petal blossoms.

But mostly I sit, tucked in a nook stemming from the trunk, my knees to my chest and my head to the sky. Through the dancing arms of the tree I see clouds grazing in the blue above. I wonder if the earth is moving under this atmospheric blanket or if the clouds are gliding over the world. I like to think that the clouds will continue to shape and form, and miles away someone will look up at them and find things that they'd like to see. I always see what I want to see when I look for recognizable forms in the fluffy clouds.

Lowering my gaze, I see my mother's gardens. She is in her vegetable patch, and all that is visible is her folded form, hunched over the squash blossoms. Her feet are browned with sunwarmed dirt and her zucchini is growing. She is happy, pulling the weeds. My sister is tanning on the lawn, her curved back shaping the canvas chair. I think she is sleeping but her eyes are hidden beneath her sunglasses. Her bikini straps are untied and she is beginning to glow. Her book rests on her thigh. My father is back from sailing, still salty and wind whipped. He is fixing something on our planked porch. I can hear the even thwacks of hammer against nail. Everyone is here.

There is a vibrant green permeating everywhere as summer begins to come to life. It is hot and the cicadas are buzzing. I hear the ice clink against the sweating glass as my sister sips her mint tea. Soon fireflies will invade our yard at dusk, soaring in small leaps as their abdomens beam brightly. When it is late enough, and our neighborhood has quieted, and the barbeque is ripe, I hear a familiar voice, calling me in to set the table. Before I pounce upon the smooth floor beneath the tree's canopy, and skip across the grass into my home, I pause. Inhaling the moment, I lean my head against the trunk. The crevasses in the bark catch strands of my hair and pull them as I sit up. I turn and hug the tree, my arms outreached, mimicking its branches. I whisper into the soft grey of its knobby joints and the bright faces of its flowers. \"Thank you\".

Annalily Charles is a sophomore (almost junior) at Pitzer College studying Environmental Studies and Studio Art. "Nested in the Dogwood" was inspired by an in-class prompt to describe a place of comfort.