Never Be Understood

This morning I stood at our fence, flanked by frisky
dogs and listening to the crow-calls
and the lowing black cattle, feeling God’s

good breath in my thinning hair, and I
loved every caress of the living world
around me. And I thought back to a

sultry East Texas afternoon when my
wife and I visited a state park,
trying to glean a few hours of respite from our

suburban rushings. We had barely settled
onto the concrete picnic table and
unloaded our feast when a car pulled into

the spot adjacent ours. The doors flapped open
and the occupants spilled out onto the woodchips
that served as a parking apron, and with their feet

came chaos and clamor. The stillness we had been
enjoying together broke into shards
as the new arrivals unloaded their gear.

When they were done, they left the trunk of their
car open and flicked on their stereo,
polluting the air with amplified songs about

girls and good times. They set about
yelling and horseplay, and we looked
at each other with the weary knowledge

that our time to leave had come too soon.
We ate quickly and packed up, and we
never did find another quiet spot

in the park that day. And on the drive
home, we wondered to each other about
how the birds and the squirrels and the

other small things felt when such ugliness
was poured onto them in such a pristine
setting. Some things can never be understood.

~ S.K. Orr