City Dweller Reflections

A city dweller spent their life in cozy quarters. They'd only ever known a concrete jungle. In the Spring of 2020 as the world awoke to news of unexpected danger, they began to shelter in place. They were told to take precautions, so they did their best to fend off the menace in play. Their quotidian motion, now arrested, bought them time, and time brought opportunity. It was a chance to see what busyness had been hiding. They noted the quiet those early days. All were confined, movements halted, restlessness stilled. Their close view of the world outside was a non-descript parking lot like so many interspersed throughout their great city. Filled with different makes and models of their neighbors’ cars, they'd only always noticed the same ones. There was the little covered sportscar. It had always been there. They knew it by the shape, but the color they couldn’t recall. It remained invisible under the old tarp. They saw the dilapidated yellow Volkswagen, still parked in the same spot. No one seems to drive it out of the parking lot anymore; they mused. So many cars are what they saw, until the leaves of Spring began to obscure the view of what was below their vantage point.

They turned their attention elsewhere and up. As the weather warmed, it allowed for even more moments to spend sitting, pondering, observing. Their newly adjusted view invited them to look, to see and to notice. They regarded the trees, so many trees, that surrounded their parking lot, majestic in their stance. The tall ones, their tops brimming with wide flourishing branches, begged the question? What kind of trees are those? They asked themselves, but they didn’t know the answer to their question, at least not right away. Before all this, city trees looked the same to them. But they saw now what had always been. After a bit of research, they recognized that it was two large London Plane trees that framed their small balcony. They watched as more and more foliage appeared with the elegance of a fancy dress unfurled. Their favorite was the Callery Pear, a beauty among the copse, whose leaves were bright white for the briefest of moments as it officially welcomed the season.

They paid attention to the abundance of birds, large and small, that flitted from branch to branch, tree to tree. The birds, so many of them, greeted the early morning with sounds of wings flapping and a cacophony of cheeps, chirps, and caws. They wondered, what kind of birds are these? They recognized the gentle cooing of the mourning doves. There were two that sometimes alighted on their balcony before they once again took flight to sights unseen.

The burgeoning summer warmth brought the loud sounds of the cicada. Yes, that song they knew. Is it still called the love song of summer? They wondered. As time passed, the song faded, replaced by the evening chirp of crickets. They heard it and asked themselves, have we heard this chant before? Has it always been?

One last sound captured their attention, a constant rustling from two squirrels. They were once considered invaders because they inhabited their balcony space and destroyed the one herb they'd chanced to plant. But a broken planter that was to be discarded later had become home to these two and the baby kit they’ve since welcomed to their family. It seemed heartless to move it so it stayed and offered a home for however long the urban scroungers needed it. These sounds of nature, silent to their ears for so long, now enveloped and embraced them. The city dweller welcomed them.