Underfoot
and
Overhead
Flora and Fauna
Flora and Fauna
9/19/25 - Early Afternoon
My head rang with the grating sound of bed alarms and fluid pumps. The noises from the hospital ran in a constant loop through my mind. I had just spent four hours volunteering at St. Anthony's and I felt completely drained both emotionally and physically. The hospital is nice enough, but I spend most of my time walking through long, maze-like hallways under harsh, fluorescent lighting. Needless to say, the only nature I see during my shifts is the occasional dying spider plant sitting sadly at a nursing station.
Although my initial goal was to run from DU to Observatory Park, I ended up driving straight there from the hospital, knowing that I needed to clear my head after my shift. As I opened my car door, a wave of sensations hit me. The sounds of the hospital faded away and the spirited chirping of birds took over. The smell of disinfectant was quickly overpowered by the earthy smell of freshly cut grass and the bright hospital lights were replaced by a soft glow from the afternoon sun. I felt at peace.
The park was busier this week. More children were running around the jungle gym laughing in delight at their lively game of tag. A dog loped across the grassy field, tongue lolling as he chased a tennis ball. People were biking, playing music, and engaging with each other in a way so clearly different from the hospital. In the hospital, everyone is focused on efficiency and productivity. Here, was a sense of freedom and easiness that I craved after my shift. The closer we are to nature, the closer we are to each other.
"Without written records, they knew the gods of every night, the small, fine details of the world around them and of immensity above them."
-Linda Hogan, Walking
Today, my main goal of spending time at Observatory Park was to explore the flora and fauna. Often, we are so focused on life as a whole, that we forget it is made up of a myriad of smaller aspects. In Hogan's quote above, she discusses the unique ability to simultaneously appreciate both the vastness of nature, and the miniscule details that together, contribute to that vastness. In other words, it is important to look both underfoot and overhead when in the outdoors. I kept this in mind as I searched for plants and animals of interest.
My first stop was this Rocky Mountain juniper. Its branches gently drooped downwards, creating a sort of secluded shelter underneath. I ducked beneath a branch and sat on top of a gnarled root. The smell of the juniper was absolutely heavenly and its subtle aroma danced around me as I rested against the tree trunk.
Eventually, I heard the skittering of small footsteps, and I was shocked to see a squirrel sitting right above me. It cocked its head inquisitively and approached me little by little. I remained still, barely breathing as to not scare it away. No squirrel had ever been this close to me. I imagined that this particular squirrel was often fed by people at Observatory Park, meaning that he was bolder around humans than most other squirrels.
Growing up, I was always told not to feed wildlife, and I couldn't help but wonder about this odd relationship between humans and nature. By sharing our snacks, are we being kind and generous? Or are we preventing animals from learning how to survive on their own?
After resting under the juniper for 15 minutes or so, I decided to head back to the area where I had seen the patch of yellow flowers last week. As it turns out, I had been so focused on these specific flowers that I had actually missed some of the other beautiful specimens nearby as well.
Orange coneflowers, better known as "black-eyed Susans", are often used in Native American celebrations and ceremonies. Their robust root system helps stabilize soil and strengthen ecosystems.
This ornate flower is called a spiked speedwell. They are perennial, meaning that they return every year. While these flowers usually peak in mid summer, I was able to catch a glimpse of this one right as fall was beginning
Although these small red berries appear delicious, they are actually toxic and belong to a wayfaring tree. When processed correctly the tannins from these trees can in fact be used for medicinal purposes, as seen in ancient European folk medicine.
This spiky little flower is widely known as a Chinese pink. In Chinese culture, this flower represents remembrance and enduring affection.
I moved on from the garden, and took my time as I continued walking through the park. It was as though everything had a place. It seemed like each plant and each animal had a purpose that contributed to the overall park community. I felt so grateful that I could exist and relax in a place so beautiful.
But as I had this thought, I began to wonder: what is beauty?
Are the weeds beautiful? Are the old, spotty mushrooms beautiful? Are the odd, lumpy leaves beautiful? What about the dying plants whose pigments have already began to fade? What about the body of a deceased beetle?
Agaricus, also known as "true mushrooms"
Common hackberry trees are often riddled with holes as they age.
Honey locust. As a kid, I would call these "giant sugar snap peas".
A beetle carcass
I sat with these questions and considered them for quite a while. I came to the following conclusions:
I don't believe that beauty comes from appearance. Yes, a brightly colored flower will probably grab my attention more quickly than a dying leaf, but that does not make the leaf any less important. After all, I believe that natural beauty comes from the ability to connect with and contribute to one's environment. For instance, the decomposing leaf actually serves as nutrients for ants and enrichment for the soil which will then support even more plants next season.
This American basswood's leaves are slowly losing their color.
As a society, we so often place value in artificial things, such as appearance or aesthetic. Instead, we should take a leaf out of nature's book (no pun intended) and start to consider the idea that beauty comes from interconnection and community.