Observation Analysis

As I sit here on Peachtree Industrial in the tall and itchy grass, I keep catching myself staring off into the gorgeous sky high trees with the baby blue sky in the background. Four-wheeler engines keep coming closer, and then quickly fade away. A couple seconds later I taste the gritty and dry red dirt crunch in my mouth, and it does not taste, sound, or feel good. At the same time, I find myself constantly scratching the sides of my leg. Little knats and random pesty bugs keep crawling on me. My legs are totally covered with red scratch marks and now they are sore, which is just great. The happiness I get from seeing the most adorable father and son out in the distance makes up for my uncomfortableness. The dad of the young boy was coaching him how to ride a four-wheeler even though the little tike was doing pretty darn well on his own. At least he was better than I would be. This reminds me of times when my dad used to teach me how to ride my pink bike.
As I am watching, some dirt from the eight year old’s wheel blows over to me within seconds and gets in my eyes. It hurts and my eyes tear but when I clear my eyes, there is all of the sudden a mountain biker, drenched with sweat from riding up and down all of the hills, flying right towards me. I kind of lean over as if he is going to run into me but he oviously passed several feet away from me. He was polite and said excuse me then disappeared.
I stare back at the father and son, now joined by the mother and even smaller son who bounced out of the black excursion SUV. He pounces on a little battery charged four-wheeler and takes off, trying to match up with his big brother. It is so adorable and I cannot stop giggling to myself about it.
I get a whiff of exhaust which burns my nose for a few seconds then goes away. There is faint whispering of the music from the unseen crickets nearby and far away. This is the only sound I hear. Wind brushes by my ears and I all of the sudden become drowned in a feeling of relaxation. The yellow butterfly zigzagging is the only figure I can focus on with its bright color against the dirty trails. The trails go up and down, left and right. Starting off into the distance through the run rays, I see muddy trails getting smaller, shrinking as my eye leads back and back. The electrical wires seem so tiny, but I look to the left of me and see how enormous they actually are.
As I sit, now glistening in sweat, in these tall weeds, I start reminiscing a few summers back before my brother, Stephen, went off to college. We drove around here all of the time in his best friend’s lifted trucks which were solid black or cherry red, had big wheels, and a sound system that just about blew my ear drums out. The boys always blasted their rap and country music as loud as possible.
I keep dazing off into those thoughts and my eyes slowly follow one of the muddy trails, eventually running across a good sized pile of newly fallen or cut town tree logs. Some of them look burned, probably because last night a couple teenagers of boys and girls came out and partied. I looked a few feet behind me and there was a Dos Equis beer bottle, followed by a Mountain Dew soda can. But in the South, this is what teenagers do. We come out late in the night any chance we get with our best buds and sit out in the breezy nights with our trucks, bonfires lit, and music blaring. This was the most awesome feeling in the world.
I tune back into the dad cheering his young boy on and smile again. A honk on the highway caught me off guard and my heart jumped a little since the only sound I am hearing before was the faint music of the crickets. Wind passes again and makes a deep sound in my ear, as if someone purposely blew in my ear to annoy me.
I stand up since by bottom is getting sore and walk forward some steps. The rocks and gravel are so big that I feel them through my warn in flip flops. Now my feet hurt, great. The beautiful scene takes over my small pain though. Now that I am standing I can better see the dainty pale yellow flowers. I cannot tell what kind of flower, but they are so peaceful looking. The purple flowers catch my eye with the soft lavender that sticks out along with the yellow, and trace me back to those trails that go on for miles.
As the family starts to load their SUV up with the four-wheeler on the trailer, I decide I should probably leave as well since I do not want to stay there alone. Sitting here so long helps me reminisce the old days, especially seeing the truck tire trails and blackened wood from bonfires.
As I turn, I take one last glance at the Peachtree Industrial trails and my eyes follow the trails back and back until it disappears. The beauty of the rough and red trails, thick and wet mud, and the green, yellow and purple life amazes me once again. I turn to my right and push off of a rock about a foot high to get up the smaller hill to my car. I close my eyes to imprint the image of Peachtree Industrial in my head and drive away without looking back.