Nature Blog #8: Constants

Tuesday, November 3, 2009
10:00 am

A chilly wind blows the leaves of my honey locust. They bombard my balcony like a diagonal stream of rain. I sense their delicacy not only by how they fly, but by the way they land on my keyboard, shuffling at the slightest breeze. The dying leaves remind me of more cold to come. Of winter and snow and Pittsburgh’s dark grey streets. Today, the sun is peaking out of the clouds every few minutes, blasting streaks of warmth and brightness over my face and fingers. The land below me is covered in yellow leaves, leaves fallen from the honey locust and fir tree. Speckles of brown scatter throughout, reminding the yellow that it will soon be brown, that its color will soon be dead.

Sirens roar in the background. I can’t ignore the street noise and cars. Now that the leaves are falling, and the trees that once enveloped me in a quiet little corner are being stripped, the road is much more present. I can see through the few naked branches. I see trucks and cars, buses and bikers. Within weeks, the road has moved closer. Now that the trees are barer, I notice something I had never seen before. Many of the trees to the right of my balcony, the ones that acted as a wall between me and the street, are strangled by vines. Around the two honey locusts and an oak, skinny grey vines wrap tightly around their trunks, stretching into the branches like garland around a banister. I follow the vines down and see that they are coming from a large bush that canopies the ground. Underneath, it is like a hobbits den, domed in by vines and leaves. Like a fort, it reminds me of the places I used to play as a child with my sisters.

The air smells clean today. Clean like a field in the countryside after a frost. The smell reminds me of the farm I lived on when I was ten. In the mornings, my sisters and I would walk out past the pastures where the cows used to graze, and into the woods. There was moss coating the forest floor. The green would squeeze out moisture as we trudged through in sneakers. Skinny trees erupted out of the moss, breaking its soft padding and reaching high into the fall winds. Although I’m in the middle of a city, I’m amazed at how focusing on something as small as smell can take me back to a very different place and time. The sun, the wind, the foliage is always a constant for me. It seems to be what grounds me in the many different places I go. I am already noticing my relationship with my balcony changing. Since starting these blogs, my perspective of this concrete balcony is different. It has become so much more than just a place to relax, eat summer dinners, sit in the sun and read. It holds memories. Sitting and observing the details around me, I am much more aware of my surroundings. I notice every bird that lands on the trees, I notice every squirrel that scurries along the gutter, I watch for my groundhogs to see what they are doing. I scan the familiar horizon and notice how it changes every week. These small observations are becoming windows into my past, glimpses into my memories. The leaves are losing their luster and charm, but I am only gaining.