Palmer Field Description

I didn't get to finish this, but this was from class a couple days ago.   


      I sat down and went still, giving the world the chance it needed to be seen.  It commanded my attention with the way it moved, my perch on Palmer Field proving to be an excellent vantage point from which to see it dance.
      The grass fluttered in the whispering wind.  Delicate emerald blades taunted me with their unassuming grace, the way they swayed made me painfully aware of my inability to join them.  Pedestrians dotted the expanse like ants, acting as a partner, of sorts, in this performance.
      By definition, nature does not get along with the city.  Plants are, for the most part, erased with molten concrete.  Birdsong is drowned out by the monotonous drone of construction and the screeching of sirens.  Even the air loses its buoyancy, cluttering our lungs with smog.
      Here, though, there appears to be a rare balance between these two extremes.  If you allow yourself to go still - to really absorb the nature in Ann Arbor - there are lines of symmetry that become apparent.  The human-ants march upright across the bridge in front of me, their constant movement paralleled with that of the cars underneath.  The snaking road is remarkably iridescent with artificial dye and bright eyes.  Skin glows pale in the afternoon radiance as students and insects alike make their way to their respective destinations. 
      Closer to where I'm stationed on the hillside, others are scattered in spaces of their own.  They break the rich green of the grass ocean with their talking hands and bowed heads.