Navigating a New Nest: A High-Rise Transition
Moving is rarely a simple affair. The disruption of routine, the disorientation of a new space, and the emotional weight of leaving the familiar can be significant. My recent move, however, was precipitated by unforeseen circumstances, adding another layer of complexity to the transition. Leaving my comfortable two-story home, with its picturesque view of pine trees and frequent visits from magpies and thrushes, I found myself on the 11th floor of an apartment building. This change wasn't planned; it was thrust upon me when my companion of a year fell ill and required hospitalization, leaving me as the unexpected resident of this new dwelling.
While the interior layout mirrored my previous home, save for its orientation, the adjustment was surprisingly swift. I quickly settled into the space itself. The challenge, however, lay beyond the front door. Venturing out to the basement or lobby, I would become disoriented, struggling to locate the elevators – a feeling reminiscent of my initial arrival. It took nearly two months for the building to truly feel like home.
Embracing the Dawn from Above
One aspect of my routine remained constant: my early rising. Unlike some who struggle to sleep in new environments, my sleep schedule remained undisturbed. Around 6 a.m., I find myself on the living room sofa, gazing out the window. The view is a stark contrast to my previous home. The sky, painted with the hues of dawn, unfolds above the rooftop of the apartment building across the street. The light intensifies, culminating in the sun's radiant emergence – a spectacle previously obscured by the low horizon of my two-story house. This dazzling display is a welcome addition to my mornings.
A Symphony of Birds in the City
The early hours are also marked by a flurry of avian activity. The air is filled with the chirping of birds, their movements restless and energetic. The neighborhood, characterized by narrow streets and a scarcity of trees, raises questions about their nesting locations. While swallows traditionally build nests under eaves or on rooftops, the dominant species here are magpies, thrushes, and sparrows. Notably absent are pigeons, notorious for their indiscriminate droppings.
Fortunately, the apartment complex boasts a significant number of pine trees. The rooftop garden on the 15th floor is a verdant oasis, densely planted with pine trees, azaleas, and royal azaleas, accessible via a wheelchair-friendly path. The annex also features a rooftop garden on the 5th floor, stretching over 100 meters. Here, too, pine trees thrive, interspersed with winding paths designed for barefoot walking. Despite searching diligently, I have yet to discover any magpie nests within these pines. It's possible that the pollen and resin produced by the trees during the summer months make them unsuitable for nesting. The sticky resin would undoubtedly pose a problem for birds' plumage.
A Sanctuary in the Sky?
The apartment building may serve as an unofficial sanctuary for the local bird population. They are constantly seen circling the building. It's conceivable that some of these birds are the same ones that frequented the windowsill of my former home, where they were treated to bread and barley. Birds are not known for their long memories, so they may have forgotten the generosity of the "white-haired grandmother" who once provided them with sustenance.
Reflecting on the Past
It feels somewhat disloyal to criticize my old home after having severed ties with it. However, while I resided there for a year and five months, my descriptions of its quietness, coziness, and the scenic pine trees outside the window – though not entirely false – lacked genuine enthusiasm. I felt compelled to justify my decision to live in a dim, sun-deprived house. Having recently moved in after investing in renovations with my son's family, I felt I had no right to complain.
Life's unpredictability is a constant reminder that plans can change in an instant. The sudden departure of my dining partner and the subsequent acquisition of her apartment was a completely unexpected turn of events. I often wonder what she found lacking in this sun-drenched house that prompted her to encourage me to join her on neighborhood walks. She would cheerfully refer to these excursions as "sunflower walking," a deliberate attempt, I now realize, to draw me out of the shadows of our old home. In this new space, where her presence is subtly woven into the fabric of the apartment, I find myself constantly revisiting memories of our time together.
A Bright Future
This new home is undeniably bright. The view from the window reveals a vast expanse of blue sky, against which birds perform breathtaking aerial displays. As evening approaches, their chirping diminishes, and they disappear into the night. The streets below come alive with people, and the windows of the apartment building across the way gradually illuminate.
Just as I moved in, someone else has moved out, and a new resident has taken their place. The cycle of life continues. If I were to find fault with this splendid home, which I anticipate will be my final residence, it would be the absence of a windowsill. This lack has forced me to reluctantly abandon the joy of feeding the birds. A small price to pay, perhaps, for the light and the view from my new nest in the sky.
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