In A Pandemic Season

*This is an expansion of my earlier piece, "City Dweller Reflections", which I wrote in the Spring of 2020 as the pandemic was first occurring. I wrote this longer piece for a Fall 2021 class. Enjoy!

One can already feel the change in the air. It is a changing of the seasons where nights are a tad chillier, and darkness descends upon us much earlier. After a few months of what was an active cacophony of caws, trills, chirps, and coos, particularly in the late afternoon, it has all now dulled to a flutter of wings here and there or the soft murmur of a mourning dove as it descends upon its perch. After sunset, urban nature is quieter. The cicada's song no longer dominates, and the sounds of a vibrant city have overtaken what brought us calm amid the disquieting season we know as the pandemic.

I rarely paid attention to these natural sounds before the Spring of 2020. Obviously, they were always there, but life, as it was with its demands and impositions, deafened them to me and subsequently denied me a wonderful experience. In the first days of the pandemic, with its forced isolation, I found myself stepping out onto our tiny balcony space more often. Before, I rarely did so because of busyness, but the fresh air beckoned me. Being forced inside as we were for what was then an unknown period, the outdoor space offered me a way to step outside safely and avoid the evil that lurked in the true outdoors. Because it overlooks a parking lot, all I ever noticed before the season, as I looked down from our third-floor setting, were the cars, always parked in the same spots. Nothing attractive about that scene at all. But in those early days, as our great city slowed to a crawl and no one seemed to be about, everything felt deathly quiet, so I sat, saw, heard, and listened. I began to attend to the sounds that called to me, and in genuinely seeing what they beheld, I saw a world beyond my imagination.

At first, it was the stillness that seized my attention. After a lifetime of city living, with its wails and sirens and thrums and hums, the sudden silence was unsettling. It only served to heighten the panic that existed outside our walls and, at times, inside my heart. Our balcony became my place of refuge. It sorted me in moments of uncertainty as I stood and watched what before was a world unseen.

Those early days brought a rush of activity, but not from the humans. No, the movement was from the critters that made this urban paradise their home. I first noticed the two squirrels, one black, one gray, as they scurried up and down the many trees and branches that encircled the parking lot. I imagined them running around in their quest for nourishment and shelter. We decided to name them. One we called Radagast for his speed, and the other Gandalf for his color. It never ceased to amaze me how energetic they always were and how diligent they were in whatever things squirrels do. At some point in this season, the two discovered a large broken pot we had stored on our balcony for disposition at another time. It had fallen over, and we had not found the time to set it aright, so the squirrels began to fill it up inside in due time. Shredded paper and leaves mainly were what I saw, and I watched in amazement, but at a respectful distance, as they created a home within our home for themselves. I did not have the heart to displace them after all their labor to make this new abode. Months later, it was early morning as I recall, I heard a squeal. I quietly walked over to our balcony door to look for the source of the noise and saw a baby squirrel, a kit, making its way to the pot. Alas, it was then I discovered that our two squirrels were not males, as we supposed, but a male and female, and now they had become a family.

This family of squirrels was just one of the wonders I enjoyed. I also delighted in the tall, majestic trees that harbored these creatures. First, I marveled at how they bloomed and flourished in the season. Then, in due time, they unfurled themselves like butterflies emerging from their chrysalis, creating beauteous leafy canopies that eventually would obscure my views below. It was then that I began to look up. When I did so, I took notice of the birds, so many kinds of birds. There were so many doves, sparrows, and ravens. I watched these feathered creatures, large and small, flitting from tree to tree, seeking a place to nest, desiring in flight for a place to be. I followed the caws of the ravens, magnificent creatures that they are, and watched as they flew gracefully over the lot, their large black wings sailing through the air towards their place of gathering on our rooftop. I especially welcomed the soft coo of the mourning doves when they, in groups of two or three, would find a perch on our railing. Their visits for me were a gentle reminder that I could find calm amid the storm.

Emergent Spring brought treasures in the form of other creatures stirring within the confines of our parking lot. As the weather grew warmer, we left our windows open and unlocked our balcony door. We placed a screen over the door so that fresh air would flow within unhindered. Each day, as I opened that door, I was serenaded by the warbling sounds of the many birds that occupied the space, and at some point, during the day, I would hear another chorus looming with a much louder song. The cicadas had arrived, bringing with them their notable buzzing refrain. Again, the annual insect symphony was here, but this time I did not ignore it. They were the most active and the loudest in the late afternoon. That is when the daily concerto would begin and last for long periods at a time. Once sunset arrived, their song would quiet, and with the evening, the chirp of crickets would resound accompanied by the glow of the fireflies. I did not mind any of this at all.

As Summer 2020 arrived, the city slowly woke. Activity resumed outside our doors, but I remained where I was. My work would continue remotely for the time being. Before this, I was never much of an outdoors person, so I did not miss the warm weather activities, but occasionally I longed to step outside. For the most part, the heat of Summer kept me indoors during the day, but once in a blue, the day would beckon us to leave our safe space and venture out to greet the warmth of the sun and its welcoming rays. One afternoon, we decided a walk to the West Harlem pier was what we needed.

The walk to the pier was short as we lived just a few blocks away. With face masks on and sanitizers in our pockets, we found our way there via the newly constructed Columbia Manhattanville campus. Its pristine sidewalks offered us smooth passage to our destination. We noted the few hearty souls who also dared to venture out in the still wary period and acknowledged them as we walked by with a nod of the head. Arriving at the pier on that picture-perfect day, we noticed how the water glistened like diamonds as the sun reflected on its surface. The day was cloudless with but a slight wind even at the water’s edge. We noted the water lapping on the surface, back and forth, carrying flotsam and jetsam to places unknown. In the distance, near the Jersey side of the river, we saw kayakers as they smoothly moved over the water, the paddling sounds too far to hear but fun to watch, nonetheless. That day we sat in silence for a while and took it all in with gratitude that we could savor the precious moments and store the memory this trip to the Hudson offered.

At home, I bore the burden of maintaining our household in this period as my husband was furloughed, my daughter had been laid off, and my son was continuing his last year of college studies remotely. We made it work, but not without difficulty. It was an adjustment, not only financially but also emotionally and physically. I worried for my family’s safety each time they ventured out. But they had to go out because we needed food to eat and other sundries. So, we decided that our children would do the grocery shopping each week while the breadwinner (me) would stay safely ensconced. What I realized during these excursions was that I had raised progeny that relied on my every word. As I tried to put in my work hours each day, I took Facetime calls and made decisions for them. In time we adjusted to this new routine. Yet, I remained wary of what lurked outside each time they set foot outside our door.

The Summer months passed quickly, and soon enough, Fall 2020 was upon us. My work continued remotely, as did my college classes. For the former, it was now part of a routine established months before, while the latter offered a bit of variety, albeit within the confines of my home. I enrolled in a course titled Walking, which shifted to a virtual format. It then took on a whole new meaning.

So, you may wonder what I learned in Walking, and I will tell you. First, I learned the definition of the word flânerie and how often the process of perambulation is associated with its meaning. It was true that many of my daily treks before the pandemic were aimless idle walks in the sense that I stepped out the door with a destination in mind but no predetermined sense of what I would encounter back and forth. My travels outside were hardly ever made with intentional observation in mind. However, I quickly realized that I was limiting myself to the fresh experiences this scrutiny would bring in not doing so. Cognizance brings with it an opportunity to indulge the senses to our intimate environment’s more natural and organic aspects. The few times I was able to go out in that period, I did so, intending to take in what the moments offered, whether my purpose was recreational or not. I knew for sure that walking with purpose takes on a different meaning when we suddenly find ourselves bereft of the opportunity.

Winter 2021 brought with it a season of worry and distress. While my immediate family could keep the menace at bay and not get sick here in the States, our elderly family member in Honduras was not so fortunate. We had already lost the patriarch of my husband’s family to a virus the year before. This time, it was the matriarch who almost succumbed to COVID. The distance did little to quell the disquietude that this news brought to us as a family. We were constantly messaging on WhatsApp for information about her condition. We sent funds to help with the costs of her care, and we spent sleepless nights as we prayed for her recovery. My husband’s niece, a medical student at the time, became the angel we were hoping for and provided the care she desperately needed. Soon enough, our matriarch recovered. I pause here to declare that my 93-year-old mother-in-law in Honduras is the strongest person I know.

Coming through the ordeal of seeing our loved one ill and then recovering, we felt relieved and hoped that the unease that lingered would eventually abate. My daughter, a digital artist, received a set of acrylic paints, brushes, and canvases for Christmas. One day, as crisp, white flakes of snow blanketed the city, it inspired my musician son to create. He was the first to try his hand at painting. He made an abstract piece and then another and then another. I saw these works of art as a reflection of his enigmatic personality, and they were all lovely. Then my husband decided he wanted to try and create a landscape. What he painted was a bevy of flourishing trees and colorful flowers that left us all agog. I should mention that I am the only one in the family who attended a high school called Art & Design for four years and drew every single day, and yet I cannot create artwork like my husband or my progeny. But I am grateful for this discovery of artistic talent and burst of creativity that has found its place in our home. As I write this, an easel now occupies a corner of our living room, and there are plenty more paints and brushes and fresh canvases to use. I am anticipating many more masterpieces to come.

Winter, in general, has always been a difficult season for me, and I struggled to remain optimistic amid the continuing pandemic and the growing concerns of a new variant in play. Work had become, for me, an exercise in tedium. I woke each morning, knowing what the day would hold. I work full-time as a budget and operations manager for a College, a role that seemed to offer more variety at the office than it did at home. In time, numbers overtook my life, and spreadsheets became the bane of my existence. I grew to loathe the work as the days folded one into the other. I had trouble recreating the boundaries of the workday that previously existed. My days became long and tiresome, and I desperately missed the frequent interactions I had within the community my previous work life offered. I longed for anything to replace the stillness that had become the new normal. At times, it felt unbearable, but I had little choice but to press forward. My family depended on me.

I hoped for a brief respite from the monotony when my college studies resumed remotely in the Spring of 2021, but I found that my quotidian reality remained the same. My imposed isolation and work-from-home situation were to continue far longer than I had imagined. But it was Springtime, and so that helped brighten my mood somewhat.

I enrolled in a course called Daily Life. It was the perfect antidote to my mundane existence. The purpose of the class was to encourage us to slow down time and document the day while it still was. Pursuit of the ordinary is how the Professor described it, and so it was. We read Basho, Baudelaire, Boca, and Brainerd. Inspired, I wrote poems and stories and fragments and haikus. I explored forms that were brand new to me and found that I enjoyed the challenge of writing outside of my favorite genre. For example, I wrote the following poem as one of the assignments after reading the poet Tu Fu. I felt these verses described perfectly what I was experiencing in the season.

As It Was

Each day like another blurs

Into oblivion a painful

Exercise of nothingness

Nothing has changed but

Everything has changed

It's what we tell ourselves to wile away

The hours, the minutes, the seconds until

Life returns as it was

Once the semester ended, I anticipated a particular milestone: my son’s graduation from college. I had been looking forward to it before the pandemic, but there was no celebration due to present circumstances, only a virtual ceremony. So, on my computer, I watched alone as my son, Jeremy, graduated virtually Magna Cum Laude with a Bachelors’ of Music from the Macaulay Honors College at the City University of New York in May of 2021. It was a hugely proud moment for us, even if we were denied all the pomp and circumstance as a family. I took solace in the fact that he had persevered despite the obstacles and accomplished a goal that I held in my heart for him all of his formative years.

Amid these momentous events, this year’s vernal equinox also brought with it the return of the sights and sounds that had offered me such solace last year. I wished for the presence of the creatures that would find a home in the blooming trees. I looked forward to the cicadas as they announced their arrival with sonorous presence. Our squirrels had disappeared for a time and had now returned, or so I hoped. I presumed they were the same ones since they knew to occupy their old quarters. Although their presence was not as constant as the year before, it was still lovely to see them come home. And so, it was until it wasn’t.

It’s now Fall 2021. The squirrels are back, albeit inhabiting their abode less frequently than before. I don’t know why that is, but it’s always a privilege to see them thriving nonetheless. They truly are one of the more hardy creatures in our urban landscape. As for me, I do not know what the next few months or even years will bring. Of course, I hope for health and safety for all and wellbeing in every facet of our being. For sure, it has been an unwelcome and even tragic season for so many. But, for others, like myself, it has also been a period of personal discovery. So many of us have discovered the bravery and spirit that dwell within. We have learned to embrace what present life affords us and not surrender to what threatens to swallow us whole. We have discovered there are gifts in nature and in our daily lives. We have found that we need others, and they need us. There are still many things uncertain, but, for sure, what I do know is that we are resilient and that we will survive the extraordinary in a pandemic season.