We are sheltered in for more than 2 months now. There are changes that everyone has noticed before: air is cleaner, less cars driving in the neighborhood, in the highways, the hills and mountains can be seen clearly. The world is new again.
But uncertainties remain. Vulnerability exposed. Maybe the same “vulnerability that songbirds feel every single day of their lives” as noted by Robin Wall Kimmerer., author of Braiding Sweetgarss.
Time is time. Not timeless.The pandemic reminds us of our impermanence.
There are now easings of restrictions. Our yearning for open space is more urgent. Will human touch be a strange feeling?
Tomorrow we hope to be curious again. Or maybe for the first time.
Tomorrow when I go out of the door I will be seeing a new world. One says, “ every beginning is monumental.” I will try to believe it.
note: 2 weeks ago I was hospitalized for 4 days. I was very sick with an infection. Not cobid-19. I was negative.
I am home now and recovering favorably. I hope to resume walking to the river again everyday.
The book currently I’m reading or should I say I am listening at is Brading Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer
It’s not shyness
The energy hides in the heaps
You can look but the present is unique
in its solitary hours
voluntarily you read the shadows silently
capture them in words and instant moment photos
the yearning to hold your hands is overwhelming
I’m sorry I have not written anything lately.
I’m in the hospital for another condition other than Cobid-19.
I think I’m getting better.
I captured the flower moon last night with plain sky. I did not have any plant or tree or other backgrounds to align the moon. I’m sorry for the just the black sky and the moon.
The book I’m re-reading: The Myth of Sisyphus by Albert Camus.
Blindness Not Just The Eyes
I stand laughing and looking
You at the buoyant side of being funny
Your words trickle on the safe distance between us
The trick is to make it lasts longer
Longer than the recitation of arithmetic of pandemic
When to open doors, breath the fresh air
Without widening the hospital doors
More cases will enter, more deaths
We cry, pray without even hope of holding hands
There is already so much written about haste and finance
Lacking tests and more tests
They have deaf ears
Counting other types of numbers
Want the numbers bold and arrogant
Going deeper, poorer, much poorer in spirit.
A tiny sun drenched backyard
bougainvillea luxuriantly blooms
unbounded, like eternity
Books I finished reading during the pandemic:
The Miniaturist by Jessie Burton
Victory by Joseph Conrad
Mastering the Art of French Eating by Ann Mah
On most days I walked to the river. I took some photos and posted them in the Facebook.