my eyes are closed, but the light filters through, yellow and glowing. i hear the water rushing and the dragonflies passing just above my head. the rocks beneath me are warm, comforting. i could easily spend forever this way, but i know i should open my eyes. i see to my left, the pond that i nap by every afternoon. with the large hard stone as my bed and the sun as my blanket, i get the best, most restful sleep.

i sit up to watch the pond and its small waterfall. the water is dark green but i can still see hints of the brightly colored koi fish underneath when they swim by. the water shimmers like glitter. in just a few weeks the lily pads have doubled in number with the warmer weather and the lilies are blooming, yellow and hot pink.

i am distracted by a frog jumping from the water and onto the rocks beside me. i stand up to follow him to the holly tree that has its roots set in the rock bed by the pond. the shade of the tree is a nice reprieve from the sunlight and i begin to walk under it more. i am not alone here. hanging from several branches are bird feeders filled with seeds or cherry red kool-aid. birds and squirrels spend all day here, eating and drinking by the pond. i feel like i am friends with all of them.

my grandmother has planted flowers everywhere. planters with brightly colored annuals and perennials cover the rock bed and porch. bushes and vines grow right up to the water’s edge. i sit on the swing underneath the holly tree for a moment, admiring my grandmother’s green thumb (she could bring any plant back to life).

the warm wind starts to blow, and with it comes little white specks floating in from behind me. i turn around to get a better look and time stops — it is one of the most beautiful things that i have ever seen. the specks are blossoms from the bradford pear trees. we have our own phrase for this, my favorite weather phenomenon: ‘spring snow’. 

in late fall, i watch the leaves turn yellow and detach from the branches, floating down, sometimes onto the pond which is starting to freeze over. georgia winters are not long and come spring, the ice melts and the trees start getting their leaves back. soon enough, the trees are back in full bloom

this cycle of seasons in this one small space has been a constant in my life. its magic has never worn off. every time i go back to my grandmother’s house, i feel like i am seeing her yard for the first time. i immediately feel at peace.

i, on the other hand, had a plan. well, to be more precise, i had yearning. for getting away, for getting into nature. i was going to the canyon. no, not that canyon. something closer to home. cloudland canyon, in the northwest corner of georgia, bordering alabama and tennessee.

however, i would have to leave soon if i were to make it in time for sunrise — it was just after 2:00 a.m. and i had a three hour drive ahead of me. i racked my brain and gathered everything i thought i may need, shoved them into my car, and got on the road— i would not sleep that night.

my drive was long, quiet, and peaceful  — and then i was there. i got out of the car, took a deep breath of green, and began walking to the first overlook on the edge of a cliff. i had the place mostly to myself. distant waves of fading green and amber. singing birds gliding about. i then realized that the main trail of the canyon was the other way, so off i went.  

sitting at the head of the trail was a set of wooden adirondack chairs set up to take in the view.

the wood was soft, chilled, smooth, and inviting, so i plopped down and gazed at the landscape.  these chairs sure had a good thing going for them. they faced a tree-spotted cliff with a wooden fence to corral guests from going off the edge. beyond it were grassy hills rolling into the nothingness of the horizon.

i sat a long time. i was in no rush. finally, my stomach growled, as i had not eaten all night. so, it was time to head back and find that restaurant i had seen a few miles away.

with some fuel in my stomach, it was time to hike the trails. there was green everywhere — i would have to come back in autumn to see fall colors. as i went on, i noticed how the opposing side of the valley had another tree covered rock outcrop—like a mirror. i  found a large stone ledge i could stand on, unguarded by a fence, that would allow me to witness it all, undisturbed.

i continued, eventually reaching a large natural pool. i waded my legs into the translucent water, flinching at the cold.

i heard a low rumble and looked up to see that the pool was being filled by a small waterfall surging over the cliff. as i grew closer to the fall, the rumble took on specific notes. on some rocks, the water fell in tones of a low rumbling bass, on others, a jolting treble. people were standing on these rocks, using the fall as a makeshift shower of sorts. i joined in, clothes and all. they would dry.

i started back, but when i reached the entrance of the pool, i noticed another trail going in the opposite direction. this trail was littered with debris — rocks and large tree limbs. i ducked under the limbs, most of which were fallen trees that had gotten stuck between the sides of the cliffs. i crawled, climbed, and maneuvered around the rocks, trying not to fall into the pools of water trapped in their floors. finally, i reached the end. it opened up to water flowing off the edge of a rock. it was beautiful. there was a small snake squirming around. i found a dry spot on the rock to sit — it was cool to the touch — and hung my legs over the edge. when i looked down, i saw the same people who were just in the pool with me. i realized i had gone around the back to the source of the waterfall. i sat and took in this view for a while, before deciding it was probably time to head back to my car. back to the suburbs. back home.