A Spontaneous Short Story by Susan Larison Danz
In the Time of the Pandemic
More to come...
It wasn’t quite summer yet in the mountains.
In fact, it wasn’t quite spring.
Calendars have never dictated the weather in the Rockies.
Even so, it felt much like summer to
Summer.
Her mother had named her after
a moment in Moraine Park, she’d been told, on a beautiful day she’d met a handsome ranger
there.
It had always been about feeling,
the name.
Feeling and Beauty.
How surprising in this unusual spring could it be that Summer found herself
in the very place that had inspired everything that she was and chose to
be.
They were old timers in Estes Park,
year round residents.
The town had asked
that the Park be closed down, earlier than the rest, because of the virus.
Estes Park, you see, like many small,
vacation towns, was filled with elderly residents year-round.
Summer’s parents were no longer on the
planet, and in a way, she was relieved.
This was a spring like no other.
Still, there was freedom.
And a very
rare gift.
Summer usually worked at the
Visitor’s Center for the National Park Service.
She knew everything about the Park there was to share, and she loved her
job.
It was open year-round, though
quieter in the winter.
And as much as
she missed sharing her intricate knowledge with those passing by, her role now
was astonishing.
Through a series of surreal coincidences, Summer found herself this day in
Moraine Park.
She was needed there, and
she happily accepted.
She knew every bit
of its nuances and trails.
She’d worked
at that visitor’s center for a time as well and was often on loan, but she
rather liked the main center at the Fall River Road entrance.
Her knowledge of the Park started very early,
and her father had taught her many subtleties.
She already knew what might unfold right in front of her, though she didn’t
quite know how or what to expect.
Humanity was all but gone, you see.
And spring was gradually arriving.
The bull elk would be shedding their antlers soon.
Summer learned at a very young age to respect
the elk.
They would show up everywhere,
even in Estes Park, particularly in the Fall during their rut, and would
astonish visitors without fail every year as they wandered into the
roadways.
Elk were always to be given
the widest of berths, no matter how tempting it was to approach them, as they
could charge a person on a whim.
Wildlife is to be respected.
She
told the visitors how, often.
Often they
didn’t listen.
But she’d made the
attempt, regularly.
The bears were coming out of hibernation soon.
The eagles were quite regularly soaring
overhead.
Summer knew and loved the
eagles, and what many people didn’t generally realize, is the eagles could know
a person in their midst, astonishingly well. They spoke to her, this year more
than ever she could recall.
The deer
were wandering ever more near.
Soon more
birds would arrive.
It was a bit early
yet.
When would the Park reopen?
Nobody knew.
What a glorious thing, truly, despite everything, everything else.
It was
as open as ever.
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| Eagles at play in the Western U.S. (Photo by Susan Larison Danz) |
