Artistry in Rhythm.

There’s a bush.

It holds my attention every time I open my blinds, always swaying in the direction of the wind. At dawn, when the Sun beams just right, you can see the little ecosystem that calls it home. The birds greet each other with elder songs, butterflies catch wind of their tune, and my four-footed friends find their tempo. Music to my ears and I have a front-row seat.

Today was different, I woke up to silence.

“That’s weird,” I say, checking my alarm. Maybe I’m up earlier than I thought, I look out the window and can see the reflection of the light hitting the closed blinds. I go to open them.

Debris.

It’s invading. I feel discomfort and close my blinds. I step outside and see more. It’s everywhere and not a critter in sight. Frustrated and out of my groove, I do what I know best to calm myself down.

I take a hit, and leave my house, but I see more trash. It was abstract, it didn’t look like treasure, and I was not impressed.

“Is this a fucking art exhibit?”, I mumble under my breath. Maybe I

should have been worn in a scarf and beret.

I sigh, heading down the hallway, wondering to myself if my neighbor’s view was obstructed.

Spotless.

I hear the groundskeepers working nearby, “Oh thank God.” I whisper. They must have known, “They’ll put a stop to this.”

I begin to calm down, hopeful of a positive outcome.

After a good training session, I like to enjoy the walk back home. I look forward to the songs being played by the pool, the people splashing, and having a good time.

I cross over and see the dog park. I have the pleasure of watching them play as birds mingle around the open courtyard. Listening in, attempting to understand their inside jokes. I apologize for being nosey, but sometimes it feels almost like a reward for the hard work I put myself through.

This return was different. I didn’t hear any music, but the sound of lawnmowers driving through the courtyard. “Well, it is time to cut the grass,” I say understandingly.

I didn’t see any dogs, just reminders left by them. Reminding me to watch my step. “Well, that’s nice,” I say, as I avoid getting any proof on my slides.

While down there, I see a rabbit. I couldn’t help but stop. I don’t know how long we were there. When I saw the flies hovering, I said “Thank you” and continued on home.

I felt different, I didn’t like it, but I kept going. I noticed how clean the other buildings were as I followed the path home. I turn into my complex, taking my time walking down the hallway, hoping. 

I was wrong.

It looked as if it multiplied. I can feel myself boiling over, unable to unlock my door fast enough, I belt out my frustration. Even the birds began to land to check on me, I was not ok.

“What type of shit is this?” I exclaimed, hitting a nerve.

I slam my door, repeatedly and head over to my laundry. Taking off my sweaty clothes, screaming at the top of my lungs “This needs to be taken care of now!” As I feel an overwhelming heat surge from my body. I grew tired of waiting for someone else to see the problem, so I came up with my own solution.

I change clothes.

The walk from my apartment felt long and I needed every minute to calm my nerves. I wore a hoodie to feel the wind. Any time my stride changed, the wind took off my hood. I understood the valuable lesson being taught and accepted the challenge. My temper was dormant as I met with the Leasing Manager.

“Trash is picked up every Monday and Thursday,” she explains, correcting my previous statement.

“Regardless, there is debris everywhere around my apartment.” I emotionally respond.

She takes out a pen and paper, never breaking eye contact, and begins to jot down notes. I continue to breathe through my emotions to find the words to finish my inquiry.

“There’s more.” I hear myself complaining. “There’s shit on the ground and dead animals around the dog park.”

“The dog park?” She says concerned, dropping her pen.

“Yes, a rabbit,” I answered.

I tried to end on a good note, “I want to say thank you, I understand that this is a busy time for any apartment complex with old tenants leaving and new ones moving in…” but there wasn’t one.

“Right of course.” She interrupts, sweeping through the rest of my apology.

“Thank you for your time,” I say, opening the door to her office. As I pass her threshold, I acknowledge the remaining staff and leave.

The walk back to the apartment felt better than how I left. But I was still upset. As the wind continued to soothe, I took a few breaths, forcing myself to calm down. I head toward my building preparing myself for whatever artistic display the debris decided to take the shape of.

Art is still art.

I slam my door a few more times and head to the shower. I stink and so did my attitude, I didn’t care. I wanted fucking results. I aggressively scrub, vowing to cleanse any disapproving stench left. I started walking through alternative scenarios of how I should have handled my emotions after leaving the gym and while I was heading to the leasing office. Each scenario resulted in the same result, I needed another hit.

I take one, and make a sandwich, but I'm not yet satisfied. I head back to my desk and stare at my closed blinds. I take a deep breath and prepare myself for whatever filth that awaits my gaze. 

I open them.

The bush, no longer weighed down by debris, began to sway in the wind. Our little ecosystem is restored to its former glory. The birds dashing through the bushes, butterflies landing on branches, and our four-footed friends playing tag.

I exhale, taking off the chip left on my shoulder. “Sorry that it took so long, little buddies,” I say, as my heart warms with joy.

I take my seat and enjoy the rest of the show.