Survivor Bag

Last November, as in thirteen months ago, during a wind storm a black bodega bag was swept up into the bare branches of the tree outside our apartment building. All throughout the fall and winter that followed, the sound of it whipping in the wind was a constant annoyance.

The snow storms couldn't bring it down, and neither could the rains. I almost climbed into the tree and yanked it down myself. Corrie has some good memories of my complaints, my bitching and moaning.

Spring came, and like all trees during spring, green life returned to the tree. Summer came, and leaves covered the tree instead of pollen dropping fronds. The rains were here once a week, and yet, visible as ever, that bag remained. It stopped being so annoying, at least.

Now, as it feels cold enough to be winter, it's still technically fall for a few days more, and the bag is still in the bare-again tree. It's been ripped into shreds, but it remains, more than a year later.