4/2 Covid-19 Update: "In the stillness of the trees I am at home. Don't come with me. You stay home too."
I've realized over the past few days that I can't remember the last time I had a non-covid-related thought. Even when i'm not thinking about it, I'm thinking about it. It's the undercurrent to every waking moment and most of my dreams. Every interaction. Every conversation. Everything. It's consuming, even when it's subtle. And I've been wondering if that's just because of my job, but I'm starting to think maybe not? Nothing is normal right now for anyone right now, right? When I try to turn my brain off and watch TV, I mostly just notice how cavalierly they're hugging and embracing - how naively they're living - and wonder how many months ago these episodes were filmed. Anything filmed even a month ago is so dated now! The world seems to change every day.
But there's continuity too. The same things that brought me comfort a year ago still bring me comfort now. Sunsets. Trees. Love. Pizza.
My cousins and I were walking through the woods again last night looking for more owls, and we talked about how there's no way we'd be out in the forest together on a "normal" cold April night at 9pm, . It was a moment outside of time. And I was so grateful for it. This week has been really stressful, and that walk through the trees and by the water was a gift that this weird covid-world gave me. I think moments in nature - with trees and animals who don't know what covid is, who haven't changed their patterns and whose lives haven't been upended, are going to be salvific for me. So no covid news tonight. Just a poem, some photos, and deepest wishes for comfort, and moments outside of time, for all you too.
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Covid-19 Poem of the Day:
(Thank you so much for sending this, KT. I had never read it until last night, and now know that Wendell Berry wrote it in 1980, because... of course he did).
Stay Home
I will wait here in the fields
to see how well the rain
brings on the grass.
In the labor of the fields
longer than a man's life
I am at home. Don't come with me.
You stay home too.
I will be standing in the woods
where the old trees
move only with the wind
and then with gravity.
In the stillness of the trees
I am at home. Don't come with me.
You stay home too.
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Francis and I had a little bit of a photo shoot yesterday, the stillness of the trees last night, and some socially distanced sunset watching with my cousins at Seward Park.