I have been away from my keyboard, but I am back now. An unexpected emergency caused me to have to travel out of state.
Picture yourself on a journey, you are walking down an unfamiliar sidewalk in a familiar – but unfamiliar – part of a town. But it is an area that you used to know so well. It has changed. Everyone you see is a stranger, and who knows, perhaps a potential danger. But they don’t seem to be paying attention to you as you walk down this unfamiliar sidewalk. You are no longer a citizen and neighbor; you are now a visitor within their gates. You are an outsider. What do they think of your being here?.
You furtively glance around to see if there is danger from any side. You can feel eyes looking in your direction. Some are actually watching you walk down the sidewalk. It’s like being in the woods, and knowing something, perhaps a deer or rabbit, perhaps a wolf or bear, is watching you pass through their territory.
You feel a cool breeze – and suddenly something catches your eye. It is movement on your right, a flash of white. You turn towards it.
Being in an unfamiliar place can be scary. And among the things we might look for as we glance around is an exit, or maybe a friendly gesture. We look for something familiar. We look for something that might give us a moments peace. We seek for reassurance that we are not in danger.
On my recent trip this is what I felt. And on one afternoon when I came back from a day of hard work, I saw this flash of white, and when I looked at it I saw the familiar. It was a flower waving in the sunshine. It was among in the plantings in front of the hotel entrance.
I was not in my garden. I was in a different place. I felt alone, but I was not alone. I was surrounded by millions of people in the home of the tallest building in the United States.
I am back in Chicago. The lake is close. The grand parks are nearby. The forest preserves are a short trip to the west. But here in this place is steel rising above asphalt streets that lie above subway trains and utility pipes. The steel and stone of the buildings rise to staggering heights. And here in their shadow and the heat of the afternoon streets is a flower bed with blooms of late summer.
They are Autumn clematis (Clematis ternifolia). They are blossoming after others of the clematis family have faded from their spring time glory. These hardy flowering plants brightens a late summer day with their massed blooms waving above their planted bed in a breeze from the lake.
I stop and gaze at the massed blossoms in the planted bed. Just the sight of them carries me to cool, dark woods far from the city.
But I hear something behind me.
Someone has said hell-o. And I turn and respond with a thankful smile, and a hell-o.