Place Entry 4

As I approach my faithful chair, always waiting for my beside the pond, I notice that the snow is of a far different quality that it was last week. It's stiff and icy, and breaks off in chunks now. It's also dirtier and has streaks of gray in it. The last snowfall has not come for a few days, although there is still plenty of it because Pittsburgh received so much. No one else has made their way to my chair, I can tell, since the only other footsteps appear to be the rounded and not partially filled in ones I had made a week ago. I'm starting to feel some ownership of the chair, and even the pond, and I'm amused by this notion, since it's rather ridiculous considering that not only does it obviously not belong to me but because of the sheer magnitude of people that pass close to it everyday.

It's late in the afternoon, and not as cold as it was last week. Unfortunately, I'm wearing a few layers less clothing because I knew it wouldn't be as cold, and because of that poor decision actually feel colder.

The crows are, as almost always seems to be the case, flying overhead in groups of 5 or 7 and sometimes larger groups of up to 30. There are no other animals, even birds, anywhere near. No turkeys or doves. No sparrows, not even house sparrows. I've been seeing several white-throated flitting among the house sparrows recently, and I prefer their song.

There are no small charismatic mammals like squirrels or bunnies, the latter of which I was surprised to see a completely eviscerated individual on Woodland Road close to Wilkins just the other day. A squirrel had been near the carcass and repeatedly uttered a prolonged squeak that, to my ears, actually sounded like a lament. It seemed rather strange behavior, although I'm aware this is a terrible projection of human values, and I couldn't help but wonder to what if any degree these two different species were capable and inclined to mourn for each other.

But by the pond today, there is nothing, besides the steady passage of murders above. The pond is still frozen except for the area immediately around the fountain, although the ice is no longer covered in a beautiful layer of white snow. Now, it is gray, dirty, and uninviting. There are no fish, neither dead or alive, to be reported this week either.

It seems strange, this blatant deficiency of life. Since it's late afternoon, a time of day nearly as productive as the morning for wildlife viewing, I'm surprised by the absence. My other visits have been much more lively and social, since a healthy degree of creatures had often passed by and saluted me. The colors of everything, the trees, snow, sky, are subdued and grimy. It's a rather depressing scene.

The only flurry of activity to report is what appears to be the complete troop of on-campus MFA professors suddenly emerging from Mellon Hall to my left. There must have been a meeting. I begin to wonder about Mellon Hall, and remember that it had been my intention of researching some of its historical significance to Chatham. I've recently made Dr. Lenz's acquaintance, so perhaps I can ask him for some guidance and insight before my next entry.