A Tide of Swallows

The sun shone boldly in a cloudless blue sky, the air sharp and clean, and it might have seemed like a day in April instead of a day in October were it not for the stunning silence and the absence of song; with some birds having already left for warmer lands, others now seek food in back yard refuges away from the exposed apartment blocks and their threat of diminished shelter. It was a day split down the middle between our continued couple’s projects and a rollicking video game night with my friends.

When the day is the same color of grey from morning to night, when no creature stirs and no wind blows, where even the trees appear motionless like a painting, I continue my life behind the windows and find myself struggling to maintain a relationship with anything beyond my warm sofa and my shining screens, often failing to do so. Monday begins again, and I made a choice in the week of the new moon to attempt to let the things that I fear wash over me, let them burn if they are to burn, but to keep my eyes open and my feet moving forward.

The grey morning clouds broke apart in indescribable layers of shadow, the trapped sun peering between charcoal edges with a golden afterglow; the faded rainbow arced downwards to splash into the treetops, melting into a pool of orange and reds that seemed to drip as falling leaves onto the blanketed ground. I seemed very distracted today by mind and memory and by anything shiny that crossed my path and have ended up far behind schedule and hoping tomorrow can lend me some time.

I left my house on a morning walk in search of the subtle shifts of autumn and instead found troops of squirrels In the scurrying panic of hoarding, bushy tails whipping around tree trunks, claws clicking along fence tops; they dashed along the serpentine paths that marked the routes to their secret stashes, pausing every so often to stare out at the world beyond them, tiny hands clutched to their chest, whiskers testing the wind for signs of change. I felt more awake today than I’ve felt in a long time, and had a productive day of learning and applying followed by some long-overdue couch time.

The air bit at my cheeks and the wet leaves crunched and shuffled as I scoffed my feet through them, a fine bed of yellow and red that scattered briefly from my passing and brought a scent to my nose, the sharp, sickly sweet, unmistakable scent of childhood autumns, of raked mountains, apple cider and glazed doughnuts. I began to feel ill tonight, which is always a sign that the wind has changed and that the season has truly moved on, so it was off to bed early in the hope of beating it before it came to full bloom.

The wind is changing; the dark blue of the stormy skies announced its approach, rushing down from the mountain tops, my breath falling in clouds that vanish into the moonlight. I am well and truly sick now, low energy, achey and ready to do nothing as soon as I place the final period on this sentence.

Saturday was a blur – a faraway world glimpsed in a haze from car windows, a night walk through shops and shiny lights, and many retreats into the darkness of blankets in a muddled state of half-images, dreams of dark forests and the spiral call of the hermit thrush. I spent the day just struggling to stay awake with every motion seeming to drain my battery down to critical levels and fell finally into one of the deepest sleeps I’ve had in months.

The sky cleared as my head lifted, wisp clouds floating in blue like sea foam, the storm for each of us in temporary retreat as the faintest songbird chorus wafted gently and tentatively from some faraway perch. I began to regain my strength throughout the day, played games with my friends in the evening, and slowly filled back into myself.

Suddenly, the bush tits burst forth from every direction in a celebration of sunshine, chatting merrily with voices far too large for their spherical bodies; they vanished as quickly as they had arrived into the golden vanilla clouds, into the shafts of light that ignited every autumnal tree top, tiny phoenixes caught between storm and fire. I am finally well and with big events happening at work this week, it couldn’t have resolved itself fast enough.

I took a break late into the evening and stood swaying on the porch listening to the hush of the urban river, the muted harbor horn bleating from the darkness, and the single wail of a mystery train as the cold channeled sound and being into a single point. I worked far too late chasing down the unknowns at work and gave up too much of my life in the process of it.

Like an honor guard, the wind storm heralded the Big Dark’s arrival, trees bowed down in reverence, leaves scattered a red and orange carpet before it, and as the rain poured down in sheets, as the sun was pushed further away by the season’s progress, the lights flickered as if no longer able to find the source of their power. It was more overtime and more life lost to it today as I struggle to find meaning in what I’m doing and why I’m doing it.

I watched the world distorted by the grey curtains of rain that fell endlessly from sullen, swollen skies; all was heavy and ponderous until the song of a single chickadee came sharp and clear from the bushes like a feathered star. After a normal but busy day of work and an anxiety attack and subsequent conversation and de-escalation, I am writing these murmurations, the last five in a row from notes taken during any spare moment, proud that I still managed to maintain a relationship with nature but promising not to do that again.

The charcoal grey clouds loitered sullenly with their backs up against the wind; before them, the single tree stretched upwards in a brush stroke of neon yellow. All the work from the last week has unfortunately caused the return of a hand injury, some repetitive strain that looks to be with me for the near future.

Hidden away in a tiny crack in the bannister, eggshell white mushrooms poked their caps into a new world of moss and lichen as the mist rained down upon their cocked heads. We had a fantastic day today visiting with old friends, meeting new ones, and feeling the joy of community at a time when things are difficult.

When you slow down your perception to the speed of actual change, when you leave behind the human tendency to observe in bursts of summation,  you can notice individual leaves on individual trees turning color at different rates, entire blocks gone bald while others are still rich and green – the carpet of autumn’s wrath growing gradually as gravity and time play out their long game of inevitability, cloaked from most of the world by the grace of minute transformations. It was a particularly balanced Sunday with plenty of task doing, plenty of leisure and a rousing game night with friends.

I’ve spent most of the chaotic months of the spring and summer, those months when large things happen in nature, looking for a spark of something unusual to mention here, but lately have realized that the unusual pales in comparison to the routine, when a crisp fall day with blue skies and the chipping of small hedge birds is enough to sustain me. I began a challenging week at work today and already know that I’ll need to try to be good to myself while I go through it, as much as possible.

The evening sky glowed a rich pink-red, coloring the distant snowcapped mountains, highlighting the pine-cone shedding evergreens, and bringing all sound to a hush with a promise of a better day tomorrow. I again worked late, far too late and gave up so much of my life in the process, chasing the solution rabbit through miles and miles of troubleshooting burrows.

I returned to my morning walk today and found a world I had forgotten, full of crows and sweet winds, the hope of a late-season bloom, the swish of leaves underfoot, and all manner of life revealing something fresh and possible. The solution rabbit kept me running all day long and well into the night, when at last he showed me some pity and allowed me to catch him just long enough to get some sleep.

The squirrel froze, barely daring to breathe, whiskers telegraphing trepidation and readiness, his dark black eyes caught in the tabby cat’s gaze; after a few moments of silent negotiation, each of them walked off to their own destinies as if nothing had ever happened. The solution rabbit has been caught and as is the way of our relationship, he has been let go or has escaped because there are always more problems to discover and we each have our role in this.

It does not matter the time, whether in the hazy half-dream before my misty morning walk, or basked in the crisp sunshine of an afternoon break, or in the quiet solace of post-midnight moon-gazing, she shows me how to wait, her delicate body suspended in the web of interconnectedness, master of the wheel of fortune. We had a soothing night of good food and conversation, television watching on the sofa, geeking out about storytelling – the perfect balm to this very challenging week.