Thick/Thin Descriptions

Shooting Star Savanna

Thin:

The grass is flat in patches, with random clumps shooting up together. There are large logs in various stages of rot strewn about. Most of the trees don't have branches until the upper fourth of their trunks. There is a woodpecker knocking on a piece of bark. The cold breeze isn't consistent enough to completely chill your skin. Chickadees call to each other, and somewhere closer a red squirrel chirps angrily. The ground sinks under very little pressure. An engine starts, a car door slams, a truck's back up warning beep carries on the breeze, and an airplane passes overhead. A saw or power tool echoes from far away. There is a plant by my foot that looks like it could might be mint. A bee hovers around it making me wonder even more. It's leaves are furry and instead of mint it smells like a cross between basil and rosemary, but less sweet. There are large stalks of wild daises that have dark yellow centers with pale yellow petals. Most of them have lost their blooms, leaving only the conical center at the top. Some of them, blown by the wind, lean over at angles it seems they will never recover from.

Thick:

The way the grass sticks up in patches reminds me of the way my dog's fur sticks out oddly after he's jumped into a lake and shook off. The sections of logs that seem to have been hurled randomly into the field remind me of the artificiality of this place. Their ends are all flat, showing that they've been cut from their trees with man-made tools. The paths have clearly been mowed into the tall stalks of wildflowers. Natural sounds are nearly overwhelmed by the sounds of industry: I only hear the woodpecker after a car engine roars to life and pulls away; chickadees calling to each other and a scolding red squirrel are swallowed up briefly by the sound of an airplane passing over. Then I see a plant that might be wild mint, and I grow hopeful for the "restored savanna." Its leaves are slightly jagged but rounded, though it doesn't have the purple-black stalk. I rub my fingers on it and smell the oil that has rubbed off on my fingers. It's not mint, but I would use it in cooking. I immediately grant the savanna some kind of legitimacy for producing something worth foraging without human assistance.

Middle Campus Quad

Thin:

Cicadas are sounding off everywhere. Birds are conspicuously absent. Crickets chirp in a wide range of pitches and tempos. A bumblebee drones by. There is a large tree stump at an intersection of sidewalk. An air-conditioning unit shuts off, revealing crows cawing in the distance. A landscaper in a day-glo vest rumbles by on a moaning machine. The grass is mostly green, but dying in small clumps. There are still visible imprints from bodies laying in the grass days ago. The sun is bright and the sky is a deep blue, fading to a paler color as it falls to the horizon. Two girls are walking by slowly and one stops suddenly, crying out and shaking her head as she waves her hands in front of her face. After a moment, she and the other girl continue to walk. Students lounging on the grass laugh and fall over at something one of them has said. Behind them is the chapel, looking old and academic except for the fire escape. A ladybug on the grass in front of me tries to take off for the third time and fails. It fans its wings as it climbs the blade of grass once more. A squirrel dashes in front of me, about two feet from where I sit. It charges up the tree and there is rustling in the branches as something thumps the ground close to me.

Thick

As I settle down on the grass with my notebook, I notice that between the extremely vocal crickets, the oppressive sounds of the cicadas, and the conspicuous absence of birdsong, I could probably be convinced that it was nighttime if I had my eyes closed. A bumblebee drones lazily by my face, and I'm reminded of the time that my roommate was floored by my ability to tell the difference between bumblebees, honey bees, wasps, and hornets. I thought it was something that most other people could do as well. Apparently not. I am forever the zoology/botany consultant of my friends.

An air conditioner that I didn't realize had been running shuts off, exposing the distressing caws of a murder of crows. A girl nearby panics as she collides with a bug, and for a moment I imagine her being in the bug's path, instead of the other way around. Laughter explodes from across the lawn; There's a group of lounging students laying on the grass, clutching at their sides and gasping for breath. Their peals of laughter echo off of the chapel behind them, and I think that if it weren't for the fire escape that clings to the building like a kind hideous of ivy, it would make an excellent picture for a brochure.

I'm startled as a squirrel dashes across the grass not two feet in front of my notebook. I am proud of myself for sitting so still, until I realize that I'm feeling superior to a squirrel. It seems to finally take notice of me and makes a dash for the tree, scrambling up the trunk of the oak. After a moment of rustling up in the branches, I hear something thump the ground next to me.

I blame the squirrel.