A sweet song and a dead leaf

During last week’s ice storm I was fortunate to have the flexibility to work from home for two days, thanks to the Internet and ability to tap into my company’s internal server. It was a good opportunity for a variety of reasons: I could wear my battered Grateful Dead sweatshirt and flannel pajama bottoms, not have to scrape the whiskers from my face, drink endless cups of Cuisinart-crushed fresh coffee, and do what I do most days when I am not wearing the button-down uniform of the typical day.

I was working the “Operation Snowflake” beat in the Frozen City, wondering why Al Gore and the other zanies were noticeably absent for interviews during this assault, and I was providing updates on closings and delays about our hospitals and other pedestrian communications. While refilling my “I Love Grandpa” coffee mug at one point, I could hear the creaking of sagging tree limbs, similar to the sounds of my knees and elbows when I get up each morning. 

And then I heard a faint sound of a bird – singing its blessed heart out against that cold chorus. It was the sweetest sound of optimism I ever have heard.

It reminded me of a time when I was not so optimistic in the winter of 1999. In the previous October, I had been forced to resign an editor position with a large, Indianapolis-based magazine. Simply put, I no longer fit into the vision of that large veterans’ organization, despite my 13-year honorable tour-of-duty. Was caught in the crosshairs of a corporate ambush and, sorry to say, so were trusted colleagues and friends who later caught the same bullets.

As the winter of 1999 raged on, the maple trees in my back yard were crushed and bent beneath snow and ice and devoid of any leafy remnants. Save one. A brown, shriveled leaf. Clinging to a branch as crooked as Indianapolis businessman Tim Durham’s business dealings and Nixon’s 1972 re-election campaign strategy.

Each day, as I rose and began the ugly process of job-searching – checking the fledgling Internet job banks and making the requisite calls to folks who might be able to help me – I kept tabs on the leaf. It shuddered against the wind, got smaller and yet it held on. I continued to drink coffee and my routine for re-entry into the workforce. There were few real offers and many prospects destined for failure.

But there was a constant. The leaf.

Early in the spring, a real job lead transpired thanks to a good friend (former colleague) and other connections. It resulted in numerous pre-interviews and such, but I seemed to be feeling better about my prospects. After months of flying blind, I landed a job.

Funny, but as the new maple buds began to pop that lone, ugly leaf finally fell.

Thank God for that bird which sings and that resilient leaf that clings to its branch at the coldest of times. The seasons of nature and our lives move on, do they not?