Blackbirds and Red Leaves
The leaves are changing.
Perched like a bird five stories up in my temporary home in Washington D.C., I spy with my little eye tired green leaves giving way to pale yellow, which will soon become harvest gold. The tops of the trees furthest up the hills to the north offer brilliant red color, a kind of visual punctuation in an otherwise green horizon.
Below me, people are busy moving around. A man in a suit dodges the construction debris from the building going up across the street. I wonder to myself what he is doing dressed in a suit; an oddity in our pandemic-induced work-from-home environment.
A young man in a hoodie walks his dog. From my vantage point, I watch what appears to be an opinionated pug sniffing and circling every tree that breaks the expanse of the sidewalk he and his owner are traversing.
Fall is my favorite season. And the bright blue sky and crisp fall breeze calls to me. But I am like a bird in a gilded cage, unable to leave my comfortable quarters.
Like millions of people worldwide, I have contracted COVID-19. And, with my usual klutziness, I managed to do so away from home while visiting my daughter in Washington D.C. Which is why I have the joy of watching the leaves change on the hills to the north as the world scurries by on the sidewalk beneath me.
In a strange kind of way, I am grateful for this unplanned, unwelcomed interruption. Don’t misunderstand, COVID-19 is no joke. I’ve lost 10 pounds in a week. And the fevers and fatigue make walking the length of a 700-square-foot apartment feel like I should receive a medal or award of some kind. This forced isolation, however, has given me time to reflect; to see the world from a different vantage point.
As I’ve watched people hurrying and scurrying below me, I’ve seen myself reflected in their busy-ness. They are moving quickly, for sure. But are they getting anywhere? And are they accomplishing anything of meaning? Am I?
Sitting on the couch watching the leaves change, I realize I’ve already been blessed to see more than my fair share of seasons come and go. More than ever, the ones I have left matter. They need to be more than productive. They need to bear fruit. Bring beauty. Nourish others.
Looking up from my computer, I see the blackbirds flying against a brilliant blue sky and backdrop of changing color. It’s time for this bird to fly, also. After all, the leaves are changing. I’m changing, too.