I stand in a state park, a few square miles away from beautiful, celestial looking falls. Well-worn hiking paths, traversed by many lie parallel to the water source. Tourists from all over roam those trails hoping to connect to nature and each other. I am rooted to a trail concealed by crisp, fallen leaves, unbroken. It’s December 31st, New Year’s Eve, I hear the rare crunch of leaves, a language I used to know so well. My limbs sway in the direction of the perpetrator, curious of what species of bird I was most likely going to encounter. To my utmost surprise, I see not a bird, but two humans. One carefully chooses his footing, while she leaps and dances around him, as if she is taunting him. They laugh as they move along, his the sound of a spring shower, hers the choir of early morning songbirds. There is a connection between them; it is delicate and beautiful, similar to a rose. I feel a scrape cross my toes as the girl trips; like a gust of wind he pulls her into his arms. I observe as they look into each other’s eyes. For a fleeting moment, I believed they would never let one another go, but another gust of wind blows between them and they shift apart. They proceed past me; he continues to carefully choose his path, as she dances. They cross a bridge and disappear up the mountainside; I am alone once more.

I have heard tales of the magic of a mountaintop, the love and synchronicity humans feel with nature. I do not know what these two humans felt when they reached the summit, but when they once again crossed the bridge and neared me, I saw a new-found harmony between them. Their fingers were entwined as if holding hands just wasn’t enough. He stops her on my shadow and pulls her close, their lips touch, creating the most bewitching moment I have witnessed. As they travelled back down the trail, I listened to the crunch of leaves grow inaudible. After today, I pity those rooted to the mundane tourist trail, for they only see the common dandelion.