It's A Small World

A hawk circles above the forest, backgrounded by blue-gray mountains, tall pines reaching to meet a blazing sun. It's quiet. Suddenly, a thumping heart, a shrill cry. Whoooosh.

It's plummeting down, down, down. Skimming the ground, very close now... to where life begins. Where is life? Where does it all begin? Come with us, come down and take a look... inside.

Inside every forest vista are countless smaller ones. Within every treescape are hundreds of microdimensions, tiny worlds. Imagine yourself one-inch tall. Stand on your tip-toes to smell the wildflowers. It's a beautiful world down here. Come, let's explore it.

Deep in the forest, tall pines seem to stretch forever. Way up is the timberline, capped with white, a gentle veil.

Sunlight dances on bright, silvery leaves. Now yellow, now crimson, to break the green monotony, enhance the violet-blue sky puffed with patterns of white.

Inside this greatness hides a multitude of little things close to the earth. Fungi and lichens, mosses and flowers, skeins of spider webs, dewdrops, raindrops on grasses and leaves. With the waxy shine of opening buds, creatures crawling in damp bark, layer upon layer of fallen leaves, a veritable host of hidden beauties clings to the forest floor. For life, the forest depends on a world of molds and bacteria, and the smaller forms of life they nurture. All begins and ends beneath the trees. It's an intimate matrix of design, seen only by those who dare to come inside. text continued on page 25

(Above) A butterfly's gentle flutterings play counterpoint to swaying dropseed grasses bent by a soft forest breeze. James Tallon (Left) Down close to the earth, where the butterfly and the aster share a moment, are fungi, lichens, skeins of spider webs, dewdrops at dawn, and raindrop necklaces . . . everywhere there is life. James Tallon (Below) Within a small world are further microdimensions. A butterfly wing becomes a symphony of line and color, life structures Beyond man's imaginings. Den McFarland

A flower in spring tells the story of all flowers, and within its color and perfection lies the phenomenon of evolution and adaptation.

A mushroom sprouts after a soft rain. It speaks of the multiplicity of forms waiting only for the proper warmth and moisture to encourage them to emerge, scattering spores.

Deep down in the valley, a little creek tumbles over the rocks, forming white lacework as it spills over ledges draped with green and growing things. There's no dawdling down here. Hurry. Plants grow fast in spring, lest the summer and fall catch them without buds or flowers. There is no second chance.

The songs of insects surround us. Sometimes the sounds of life seem deafening. It's not quiet down here. Life is seldom quiet. There's so much to grow and so little time, and we're so close to it now.

The huge, granite cliff in the desert to the south also has unique beauty, a bold dramatic symbol of the evolving earth. Within is a universe of living crystals, and outside, a growing community of forms which have found a place to live on its roughened surfaces.

Majestic saguaros sprout arms that reach in every direction, mass confusion. Gently, gracefully sits the tiny white blossom atop each arm. A blue dragonfly nips sweet moisture from its yellow center. Peacefully continued on page 31

(Preceding panel) The desert, spurned for its lifelessness, in truth harbors life in fantastic array, from the yellow-white of the saguaro blossom to the magenta of the hedgehog flower, the lavender and orange of the golf ball cactus, and the yellow-orange of the California poppy.

(Right) In the heart of silence, the wilderness exists, home of micro-worlds still undreamed of.

IT'S A SMALL WORLD continued

The prickly back of a prickly pear cactus seems at first foreboding. But touch. Its edges are soft, smooth. Only the smoothness is protected. First there's a bump, at once smooth, then mean with the jut of a thorn. Striking out in angry lengths, it says beware to any who would do harm to the yellow-pink-orange flower, a soft bed for a ladybug. Waves of heat lift off the desert floor. Heat. No relenting. A lizard skims from shade to shade, cactus to cactus, stirring an ever-so-tiny cloud of sandy dust. Horned toads breathe deep, their tiny chests thrusting in great heaves. Don't come too close; don't make me move. It's too hot. Desert bees move. Quickly. Spreading desert life. And they chatter. Without them there may be no shade for the toad, no flower bed for the ladybug, no nectar for the dragonfly. It would be quiet. It's beautiful in our small world. We're part of it. We're safe in its eternal beauty. Depending on your view, man is either big or small, powerful or trifling. He can crush nature; it can crush him. As he nurtures it, so nature sustains mankind.