Nature Studies

NATURE STUDIES

One of my first experiences of the interior of the forest was a strangely colored scene that still lives in my memory like a fairy tale. One beautiful Sunday morning we decided to venture into the forest. The sun, which had awakened us very early, lured us out into the open air, and soon we were striding merrily along. We had selected the oak forest because it was not quite so dark as the fir-tree forest, and above all it did not conceal as many dangers as the thickets of the fir forest. Soon we reached the oak forest and roamed about in it, keeping in constant touch by calling out because we were still afraid, although more and more the sun allayed our fears.

All at once the spring breeze brought a strange, splendid fragrance, and we searched for its source until we suddenly stood before a wondrous pink-blossoming bush. Honeybees, bumblebees, and other insects flew from flower to flower diligently gathering the splendid nectar. We were surprised and delighted at the bush, glistening and gleaming, as it poured out its fragrance in the bright sunlight. It was the first time in my life I had seen it. The bush did not reveal any leaves; only blossoms could be seen in the otherwise gray-green spring forest. In the stillness the regular buzzing of the insects could be heard, and the birds were singing their first songs. Squirrels sprang merrily from branch to branch. The forest no longer seemed as scary and gloomy as it did in the evening.

It was soon time for us to return home. We plucked a bouquet of the beautiful blossoms after we had our fill of gazing at the bush, breathing in its fragrance. We went home, merrily and in high spirits, with the thought of surprising our mother, for we thought that she would certainly not know these flowers. We were disappointed by her look, and we soon learned what we had brought home as she sang a little song:

The daphne that blooms in the woods in spring, It blooms without leaves, so delicate, pink; But its fragrance brings danger, though sweet is its breath, For eating its fruit means certain death.

August Sander, The Nature and Development of Photography, Lecture 2,1931