I had the opportunity to visit Sternberg in the Swabian Alps, just a short drive away from where my sister lives. She and her mother took me on an adventure through the greenery of the charming mountains. On our way up, we stuck to a path of gravel, surrounded by trees that obscured the view. Just before the three of us broke through the treeline, my sister told me I wasn’t allowed to look. I knew she was talking about the view I had yet to behold, and I trusted her, knowing patience would increase the beauty of the experience.
I remember squeezing my eyes shut, aching to arrive at a point where I would finally be allowed to look. She led me by the hand as we continued our journey up the slope, which increased ever-so-slightly. The reverberating chirping of birds and chattering of rodents was replaced by a whispering breeze that carried the scent of grass and dirt past my nose. My excitement had grown too much for me to process the steps taken while still in oblivion, but somehow, I had resisted the urge to peak.
Finally, when we arrived at the objective point, I opened my eyes. All around me was a scene finally freed from the confines of fantasy novel illustrations and edited footage. I doubt I had ever seen a sky so blue, nor grass so green. Neighboring mountains posed around two sides of us, while distant relatives could be seen across the vast blue. Seeing such a majestic view was an incredible experience, but it was not the leading cause of my exhilaration.
What had me most captivated of all were the thousands of butterflies that graced the boundless flowers over the green. There were more kinds than I could count, all of them soaring through the air in colorful displays.
I indulged in my childish compulsions and attempted to catch one in my hands. At first, I rushed into the chaos, attempting to snatch one as it flew low. I had certainly disturbed countless creatures as I rushed through the flora like an inexperienced predator. Soon, however, my tactics changed, and I began to study the flight patterns of the insects and attempted to catch them just as they landed on a flower. Unfortunately, it seemed that my targets had also evolved in their thinking, as it appeared that they only landed on flowers I was not looking at.
When I finally managed to catch one of the winged beasts, after a long ten minutes of struggle, I peered at it within my hands, my excitement reaching its peak. Though it was not the most colorful or bright creature one the mountain, I was fascinated by the beauty of its delicate form.
Where I assumed its optical sensors were, I saw blue circles that seemed cartoonish. As I looked into the eyes of the spoil of my efforts, I began to think upon the fear experienced by the insect trapped inside my hands. I wondered if it began to despair, thinking it had reached the end of its life.
I let the creature out of my hands quickly, after my sister had taken a photo of the momentous occasion. I had felt an unexpected surge of guilt, that had soured the playful mood that had vividly thrived over the course of ten minutes. To this day, I wonder what that butterfly could have been feeling or thinking as it sat in the dark cage of my hands. But I will never forget seeing it fly away towards the next flower as if I were never there.
I remember squeezing my eyes shut, aching to arrive at a point where I would finally be allowed to look. She led me by the hand as we continued our journey up the slope, which increased ever-so-slightly. The reverberating chirping of birds and chattering of rodents was replaced by a whispering breeze that carried the scent of grass and dirt past my nose. My excitement had grown too much for me to process the steps taken while still in oblivion, but somehow, I had resisted the urge to peak.
Finally, when we arrived at the objective point, I opened my eyes. All around me was a scene finally freed from the confines of fantasy novel illustrations and edited footage. I doubt I had ever seen a sky so blue, nor grass so green. Neighboring mountains posed around two sides of us, while distant relatives could be seen across the vast blue. Seeing such a majestic view was an incredible experience, but it was not the leading cause of my exhilaration.
What had me most captivated of all were the thousands of butterflies that graced the boundless flowers over the green. There were more kinds than I could count, all of them soaring through the air in colorful displays.
I indulged in my childish compulsions and attempted to catch one in my hands. At first, I rushed into the chaos, attempting to snatch one as it flew low. I had certainly disturbed countless creatures as I rushed through the flora like an inexperienced predator. Soon, however, my tactics changed, and I began to study the flight patterns of the insects and attempted to catch them just as they landed on a flower. Unfortunately, it seemed that my targets had also evolved in their thinking, as it appeared that they only landed on flowers I was not looking at.
When I finally managed to catch one of the winged beasts, after a long ten minutes of struggle, I peered at it within my hands, my excitement reaching its peak. Though it was not the most colorful or bright creature one the mountain, I was fascinated by the beauty of its delicate form.
Where I assumed its optical sensors were, I saw blue circles that seemed cartoonish. As I looked into the eyes of the spoil of my efforts, I began to think upon the fear experienced by the insect trapped inside my hands. I wondered if it began to despair, thinking it had reached the end of its life.
I let the creature out of my hands quickly, after my sister had taken a photo of the momentous occasion. I had felt an unexpected surge of guilt, that had soured the playful mood that had vividly thrived over the course of ten minutes. To this day, I wonder what that butterfly could have been feeling or thinking as it sat in the dark cage of my hands. But I will never forget seeing it fly away towards the next flower as if I were never there.
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