Branches bow and shake, waves rise and break. I listen and watch a symphony of nature from my window. I am to remain here for a time, safe, hopefully uninfected. Other than interruptions by my husband, the vacuum, or to confer about the dinner menu, my days are no different. I alternate between freelance work, writing, thesis, same ole. By now, the mid-march gloom would have gotten under my skin. The lack of social interaction, a view of grey clouds, and no reason to dress, would have me aching for sun and mild temperatures. Instead, I feel a kinship in my isolation. All cars in all driveways. The infrequency of travel down my road, by wheel or foot. Forced to pause, days linger. We conserve. We share. We offer help. We check in. The bulbs in my garden peek above moist soil. The honey-do list dwindles to a few outside projects. We stop spending. We get by on less. We forgo showers and lounge in the same joggers for days. While I hold my breath at the pharmacy and supermarket, the Earth inhales deeply. It is her master plan to force us into coherence, call us to attention. I buy a composting bucket on Amazon and begin to save my scraps so I can return the favor. I clip hair and string into two inch strands and make a Spring offering to the birds for nesting material. I grow earthier and crunchier by the day, knowing that when this ends, the world will quickly slip back into business casual, hop commuters train, grab expensive trendy salads from cafes in paper and plastic to be eaten while working from cubicles. I know a deep yearn for new possessions will arise as the fashion industry dresses mannequins in fresh pastel-colored fabrics in windows and on websites. Temptation. I scan the internet for the best bulk price on lavender bushes and pollinator plants to help increase the bee and butterfly populations. I fear this holiday our planet forced upon us will be quickly forgotten, hustle and bustle cancelling out a communal wokeness. Hopeful, I hold still, in pragmatic reverie, feeling a true oneness with the energy of my fellow humans. Together in this, I imagine, I affirm – that all we have gleaned from this universal experience will not dissipate with the next wave of change, but hang, like the air on a moist summer day.
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