Early Sunday Morning.
There was one tree north of the
Yard which even so far into December held on to all its leaves. Though dried
and seemingly ready to fall they still held fast to their branches, and in that
brisk early morning peacefulness they made a soothing noise in the cool Wind
that passed gently through that area of the park still dark with only a hint of
light beginning to grow behind the eastern skyline.
I slowed my pace to savor the
wonderful sound those hardy leaves made in the Wind. Why hadn’t they fallen already?
The same answer to that question holds, I reasoned, for why I wasn’t in my bed
at that hour. The Universe was in control of whether leaves fell or stayed on
their branches and whether people slept or came trekking into public parks at
odd hours, and so be it--I declared.
I deceive myself so many times into
believing that I know the park so well--the truth is I don’t. Romeo &
Juliet is much further from the Great lawn than the schematic I had floating in
my head.
Just under an hour before sunrise
and barely a soul stirred in the dark park. I encountered one Conservancy
worker at the 81st Street
entrance, but no one else along my walk. I listened some more to the rustling
leaves and craved to understand the language which they spoke. For moments at a
time I fancied to be transported a few hundred years back to hear how much
purer the music of those leaves then sounded.
I wished it to linger, the
solitude, but the harsh streetlights kept me sober of the modern times in which
I lived. I reasoned that every man who had ever lived ridiculed his own time,
and evoked images of better times that had long passed. I was then compelled to
believe that there will come a time when some future generation will look back
at our time and relish the good fortune we had for perhaps breathing natural
unfiltered air.
I thought of a great many
scenarios which were likely to occur years from now, but soon tamed my
wandering mind and addressed the sole purpose of my early morning visit.
I hurried along toward the Great
Lawn and hoped that he did not sneak off without my seeing him. He did not, and
I was delighted to watch him sit quietly on the tall branch above the
cobblestone path in the stillness of the cold morning with not much of a sway
that I can recall. My day was thus made.
