She stood outside for the first time all day. The sun shined brightly enough to remind her it was still fall. But the breeze was fresh enough to whisper that change was coming, and the end of the season was fast approaching.
She embraced herself and sighed melancholically. And a sudden surge of sadness swept her face. She took to her front steps. And stared straight into the sky, a flock of birds, were passing by, nestling on the light poles, it seemed like a swarm of them.
Flying south for the winter – she thought. “How I wish I was you”. She said out loud to no one in particular. But she did. In that moment, wished she too could spread wings and fly as far away from here as she possibly could.
It was strange how binding a location can seem when all you want to do is get away. How the 1,619,090 million people, the 59 square kilometers, with over 100 skyscrapers, all of a sudden can seem like a 4x4, narrow, asphyxiating box.
She envied the migration of the birds, the way that when a location was no longer useful, they could get up and just go, move on to the next. She wanted to get away. She needed to get away. Like if going east or west would up the ante of not feeling what was coming to her.
From an early age we were told that if a flood hits we must head for higher ground. To escape and earthquake, we must walk outside. If a hurricane is announced one must head east or west of it. And if a tornado ever comes to head for shelter. So when your whole life you’ve been told to save face, it’s hard not to think that when a break up occurs you must heath south for winter.
The bustle of the city was deafening, and it seemed every corner she turned held a memory of an ill fated love affair, one she just wanted to put behind her. But it’s hard to let go, when you live in an island. And you can still pin point the location of where half your heart lies.
There was no escaping the run-ins of the past. That same café that was exactly 2 miles from his place. The bar, with the bartender that never got their drink orders right. The reason that they met. The restaurant down two blocks that had his favorite pancakes and her favorite eggs. The deli where the guy behind the counter always called them Mr. And Mrs. M.
The concrete jungle mocked the days of careless laughter, and sweet reverie. It laced the memories, and swept the emotions; it tangled the kisses, and masked the rose colored view. It screamed in her ear that she was overwhelmingly abandoned and her shadow was the only thing faithful friend who stood beside her.
What happens if a bird didn’t leave its home? Eventually its environment would not be nourishing enough for them to make it through the winter. The air would be too cold, and with bare trees they’d eventually run out of food. Inevitability. So even when holding our ground seems like the strongest thing to do, it is inevitably sometimes the thing we not ought to do.
So she packed her bags that mid fall, and headed down south for the winter. She bowed out of the horizon that held its fist around her throat, that held her heart caught in a web, that held her soul knotted in regret. She ventured forward into her future. Let time pass and her wounds heal. And like a bird she found that eventually this season too would pass. That the wind would shift again. And that the trees would bloom again in spring.
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