The autumn here arrives late and glows well into November. Then, as if painted by some magical hand, the whole Island fades into a brown that seems to last forever.

The world outside our living room window is still brown. But, if you look closely, the tree tips are tinged with an aura of pink and the Pinkletinks wake us with their noisy love life that begins at 4 a.m.

All was dead around us the morning after our arrival in early March. Not a sign of life, not a skunk, nor a squirrel. We started feeding the birds right away. It took about two days for the word to spread and then they arrived en masse. Chickadees lined up on the naked oak branches ready to take their chance at the feeder between the onslaught of Blue Jay bullies and Tufted Woodpeckers. Blood red Cardinals hopped around on the ground sharing the bonanza with Figaro, our in-house squirrel, who seems to think he owns the place.

Watching this performance through the window lifts my spirits but makes me realize that it’s become “le monde à l’envers.” Here we are, sitting in a golden cage looking out as the animal world fearlessly takes over. We, their greatest predator finally contained, disarmed, cowed and temporarily removed, giving space and air back to that very animal world we thought we had forced into submission.

The irony is not lost on me and I rejoice for them. They must be thanking Covid-19.

Monina von Opel lives in Chilmark.