Observation

Lounging on a cold cement step, there are buildings all around me. One behind me, one in front and, ushered in by winding patches of cement and sidewalk, there are distant buildings on my left and right. I am surrounded by the sight of brick, stone and manmade structures. Despite this forceful artificial landscape, I am compelled, instead, to focus my eyes toward the sight of flowers.

There are many kinds and colors. Purple. Pink. Red. However, not surprisingly, I focus directly at the most prominent of these flowers: the yellow ones.

They tower just as high as the wandering students passing by, maybe even higher. However, the students, tangled up in their i-pods and cell phone conversations, spare no time at all to glance over at these bright displays of nature’s beauty; a mistake perhaps, considering that winter will soon erase such vibrancies from the landscape.

The students move on. A new student passes by. The cycle continues. Each student carefully, yet unconsciously walks on the cement around the patch of one of summer’s last souvenirs.

The yellow flowers sway in obedience to the breeze; a breeze that carriers with it the scent of autumn. Fall is not coming, it is here. Dead leafs have crawled their way to this patch of flowers. These brown, orange, and red trademarks of fall have surrounded the cement base as it circles with precision around the flowers that have so steadily kept my attention. These wind-swept leafs seem out of place, however. They appear broken, dirty and withered, which, no doubt, is in direct contrast to the green, clumsy leaves that the yellow flowers silently boast.

I glance away for a moment to look at the smooth, dark shape of a black light pole that ascends high into the background. Its location makes me wonder what this scene might look like at night. Would the sight of leaves, the darkness, beams of light and the towering yellow flowers twisting together finally be able to capture the attention of other passersby?

My wonderment disappears with the interruption of a ring and the glance at my cell phone. I, too, now am guilty of the ignorance of other students. I answer the phone, stand up from the cold cement and start walking away. I join the line of i-pod listeners, backpack wearers and fellow cell phone users as I carefully walk around the flowers on my way to class. Then, as before, these yellow flowers are forgotten; tucked away between buildings and the sound of slamming doors and tennis shoes screaching on a nearby gym floor.