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Cloudy days never got the love they deserved in my family. The sun surrounded me like a plague, on paintings my mother created and with big cheesy smiles on the coloring pages my brother did. Seeped into the yellow walls of my living room and glaring at me by the hundreds from the summer dress my father gave to me on my 17th birthday. I particularly hated the stained glass depiction of it that was positioned at the top of the front door, with its geometric orange rays reaching out over a blue sky, sending golden light over everyone that entered like a heavenly blessing.
I was the outlier of the family in the fact that I found my peace among overcast days, when everything was left unsaturated and the thunder of the wind in your ears would bring your thoughts to a pause. On days like this, I would often find myself alone in some desolate place, letting go of my responsibilities for a moment to enjoy the serenity.
Today, I found myself on the side of a traintrack bridge. The cement pillars holding it up stretched out below my feet and plunged into the river, covered in green algae and thick clusters of snails. The river was wild today, black water tossing around foam as the wind stirred it up and small raindrops pelted the surface. It was quite the sight. Something you'd never see when the sun was out and the air was calm. Too many people miss out on experiences like these, just because they misjudge the weather. But that just makes it all the more special for me. It's like my own little world.
From my spot on the bridge I could see the remains of a long abandoned hiking trail that followed the shore of the river. Stout wooden posts seperated it from the rest of the forest. The dirt was packed down from years of use, but it must not have been used in some time because there was grass and plants and small rain trenches creeping past the wooden stakes. Oyster shells had been discarded in one portion of it, where a squirrel nervously tried to nibble on one. A rabbit bolted across the path with a berry-riddled twig in its jaws.
I like to put my daily thoughts and anxieties aside and capture these sights. They might not be the most special moments, maybe not very interesting, but they are things you don't usually think to stop and look at. With the rush of daily life, you just don't have time. I consider myself privelaged to be able to experience this, and even more so to be able to understand and appreciate it.
With these moments to myself, it wasn't odd to come across others who were also looking for a minute alone. A teenage couple looking for some privacy, or someone with tears ready to spill when no one can see, or a person with heavy shoulders who clenched their fists and shouted their woes to the trees.
I likely wouldn't have given the woman a second thought if she hadn't been so aggressive with her movements. Storming down the trail, kicking up gravel, slinging her arm as she swatted overgrown plant stems out of her way. In the other arm she clutched a red bundle of fabric against her chest like it was a lifeline. Even from my spot on the bridge, I could hear the water splash as she veered from the path and to the riverbank. She was nearly hidden by the tall grass when she bent over like she was picking something up out of the mud.
When she stood up, the red bundle was nowhere to be seen. She looked around her, like she was checking for witnesses. She climbed back onto the trail covered in mud, and took off faster than she had appeared, back the way she came.
I'd seen plenty of people getting rid of objects before. I was in the middle of thinking to myself, just mind your own business, when I heard weak cries coming from that spot on the riverbank.
Up and sprinting immediately. It seemed to take an hour to get off the bridge and down to the river, and even longer to find the spot where the woman had been. The baby's cries had weakened too much to trace where they were coming from. It took two trips across the twenty yard stretch of shore to finally catch a glimpse of red between the shoreline plants.
The baby's small round face was poking out of the tightly wound, mud smeared red towel. I took in the tear stained expression of rage and confusion with a frown and gingerly leaned down to take it in my arms. It was small, much too small, and its cheeks were coated in a pink, slippery substance. It stopped crying as I tried and failed to wipe the stuff off with my thumb.
I sat down on the grass beside the trail and unwrapped it from its ruined towel."Hello," I spoke to it as if it could understand me, but nevertheless it stuck a tiny arm out and reached for my thumb. If my mother were here, she would have giggled and murmered about how precious it was. I never understood her fascination with children, and now is no exception. The pinched expression on its face unwound into a smile. It gently led my thumb closer until it tried to put it in its mouth. "Don't do that." I pulled my hand away and wiped the baby saliva onto the towel with a frown. Gross.
It didn't start crying again, but the smile faded and its naked brows furrowed. Ignoring it, I finished unswaddling the child. Its whole body was covered in the slick substance, along with soil and bits of grass that must have stuck to it before it was wrapped up. A pale purple bruise was starting to blossom on its hip. When I put pressure on it, the baby whined a little and tried to swat my hand away.
It was a girl. Dark hair softer than goose down was starting to sprout atop her head. It already had the same red tint that the young woman, presumably her mother, had. "I wonder why she didn't want you?" The baby scowled. I guess even now she somehow understood the severity of the situation.
It didn't take long for the idea to come to mind. "How old are you?" I asked, only to receive a snort in response. Judging by the size and the fresh pinkness of her skin and the- ugh, the slime, it seemed this baby couldn't be older than a day, maybe two. I don't know. Ask me about math or music and I can help, but children are a mystery to me.
Either way, the thing was young and abandoned and already shivering. I wrapped it back up, making sure to leave its arms out as it seemed upset when I tried to swaddle them. Holding it close, trying to fend off the oncoming winter chill, I looked back up the hill where the railroad bridge started coming out over the river. Too steep and slick with dew to climb back up in any case, much less with both arms full of baby. I looked back down the abandoned hiking trail. It seemed like use had been fairly frequent at some point, what with all the litter and graffiti on the wooden posts. "Has to lead somewhere, right?" The child smacked her lips at me.
On any other day, I would have been content wandering the trails until dark, but the rapidly fading light was more of a nuisance as I was trying to find my way out of the woods with the child, who had started making raspy panting noises and closed her eyes. The pink had started draining from her cheeks. I hadn't realized how badly she was doing when I found her, otherwise I wouldn't have dawdled so much before.
The idea that the child might die in my arms sent a jolt through me. It was small. It wasn't moving, aside from labored breaths that were barely noticable. It could have honestly been a football wrapped in a towel that I had cradled in my arms. Death for it would not be dramatic or emotional. It would cease to breathe, and that was that. But she was still a child. A human being that had a mother and a father, even if she wouldn't know them. She would grow up into an older kid and then a teen. She had a name, even if it was lost to her right now.
I looked back at her and tried to smile. She didn't see, but her arm twitched against my chest and that was all it took for me to start sprinting.
A golden sunset had broken through the gray blanket of clouds in the sky by the time I had to stop and rest. My legs were shaking and my lungs were burning, but what I felt the strongest was the ache of my arms