Campus is crawling in the sunny weather, as if students react to ideal conditions the same as animals at the zoo. We come out of our dorms, apartments and houses to see what is going on. (Not to mention we have our academic obligations.) The Fall Semester brings with it a new class of students and a thousand different species to observe, all of whom went to class on the first day, judging by the foot traffic on McKinley Avenue. All this, despite the morning grumble and commonly held disbelief that summer has, once again, dissipated into moments and memories. When's Winter Break, again?
After my first class, I laid claim to the mulchy base of a tree in the Quad, where nearby, other students were reading, napping or debating who had the more intimidating syllabus of the semester. Others, like me, were practicing the most common spectator sport of the season: people watching. From my shaded patch, I blatantly stared as other students crossed paths on foot and bike. Headed to their next destination, few felt my gaze.
Least of all, the girl with the orange bandanna who skipped gazelle-like through the quad, earbuds firmly planted, probably listening to Taylor Swift, though for all I know, she may have been an enthusiastic Rage Against the Machine fan.
Not too much later, another girl, this one in pink spandex and a headscarf, settled a few trees over and spread an exercise mat where she practiced yoga. Or meditation. Or Thai Chi. Whatever the name, she was stretching her arms and balancing on one leg, eyes shut, appreciating the moment, the lone flamingo separated from her flurry.
And of course, there were the well-informed and sleep-deprived, clutching newspapers and coffee on their ways to economics or history classes, judging by their migratory patterns. The owls, who are themselves inherent people watchers, but only nocturnally, don't notice they are as much the subject of staring as anyone else when the sun is out.
The difference between today and two months from now will be stark and harsh. The contrast between summer and winter is felt across the country, especially in the Midwest, and exponentially so here in Muncie, where the mucus in your throat will freeze before you can cross the Scramble Light. This is the time when students resist (occasionally) their instincts to lay beneath their comforters in dark rooms and hibernate, what Ball State professors misunderstand as skipping class. Students take advantage of the connected buildings and warmer hallways, shielding them from gray skies and perpetual flurries, so the onlookers driving down McKinley are disappointed by their safari.
For now, though, the time is ideal to sit and stare unabashedly at whomever or whatever comes your way. The Atrium, with its enormous glass windows and outdoor patio, which overlooks the main artery of campus, can be most appreciated at this time. Another ideal perch is the area between Bracken Library and University Theatre, perpetually congested in between classes. Stopping for a few minutes, you can spot the skinny jean, plaid-claid hipster or the thespian, recognized by its black uniform.
Of course, the definitive and most important difference between Ball State and the San Diego Zoo is that while they may tell you to not feed the animals, there aren't any rules against sharing a meal with someone you see or meet on campus. Birds particularly are well-known for picking at whatever comes their way, and cardinals, I assure you, are no exception.
Write to JD at jdmitchell@bsu.edu
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