Safe for now
It’s been such a long time since I’ve written, and I can’t really say why. So much has happened. We went to California in February and had lovely visits with family and friends. We came back on March 4th, just as the awareness of the virus was finally starting to hit the US. In the airports people were still sitting jammed together, and only one or two people were wearing masks. I had been reading about the virus since early January and was becoming increasingly alarmed as its nature became clearer, and I was baffled by why more people weren’t worried and why no one seemed to be doing anything to prepare for what was so clearly coming. And now, of course, here it is.
Almost everything in most daily human life is altered, although our life is largely unchanged. We’ve always spent a lot of time by ourselves up here on the hill, especially during the winter. Of course we miss concerts and going out to dinner with friends and especially going to the gym, but we are happy here together, and Charlie is delighted to have us home all the time. But while human life is turned upside down, the trees, the grass, the birds and all the creatures know only that the days are longer and warmer and that spring is coming. And Venus is brilliant in the predawn sky, appearing near the Plieades, no matter what is happening on the third planet. When the sky has been clear Venus has been so brilliant it has just taken my breath away.
The geese have been back for a couple of weeks, and they’re such a welcome presence. I see them gliding on the pond, I hear them honking through the sky, and I watch them on the hill, finding things to eat. The robins and redwinged blackbirds came back around the same time, and the air is full of their songs now. This morning I went out with Charlie and the air was alive with song. I heard my first woodpecker of the season. This unfolding of spring is such a wonderful balance to the closing in of human life. The birds are busy – not sheltering in place. There is no hint of fear in their songs, only the passion to find mates, and perhaps the simple joy of a sunny afternoon.
Every time I’m outside there is something new growing. This morning I sat in front of the pellet stove looking out the big window at the tree covered hill to the east. It was the first morning I noticed white blooms on a few trees, and a pale red haze of leaf casings. The last time I walked up Gulf Road there were new little yellow coltsfoot blooms – not the one or two I had seen a couple of days before, but masses of them. In the ditches alongside the road there are carpets of tiny green plants. The crocuses are up on the front lawn, purple, gold and white. The line of daffodils along the driveway have poked up their straight bright green shoots.
This seems like an ideal time to be doing so many things I am not doing – an ideal time for journaling, for reading, for cleaning out the garage. I don’t understand why I’m not doing much of them, and don’t really care. I can’t account for where the days go. I read the NYT, probably more than I should. I do the crossword puzzle and the devilish Spelling Bee that Tamar got me hooked on. There are meals to discuss, plan, prepare, eat, and clean up after. The kitchen seems to want to be cleaned all the time. We are tending to Charlie who had surgery for a torn ACL two weeks ago (stitches coming out tomorrow, and he’s doing great despite the cone collar). I am reading a little, a wonderful new novel by Louise Erdrich. Jay and I sit together with Charlie and gab, and watch Hazel batting a stray piece of popcorn around the room. I do a little math lesson with Kortney on FaceTime.
Jupiter fades in the east as the sun rises. The sun crosses the sky and sets, and Venus appears. Another day has slipped by. We are not coughing and have no fever. Everyone we love is safe for now.