I have to be honest. I work from home. So not a huge amount has changed for me except for not being able to dine out or freely dart here or there or, ha, go on my usual May vacation. No lobelia plants for my hanging basket this year? Bummer. I’ve planted lobelia seeds. Have you ever seen a lobelia seed? Smaller than a grain of sand. They haven’t germinated yet, but for all I know they floated away on an indistinct breeze as I was planting them. Probably some fairy absconded with them and created a fairy garden with my lovely colorful varieties of lobelia. Ah, well.
The bigger part of this virus for me has been the associated fear, losing someone I love dearly. My siblings are all older than me and losing any one of them would be devastating to me. I’ve been lucky. Many others have not been and my heart aches for them.
So to my poem written for dVerse in which Bjorn asked us to write about solitude. I could tell you I’m an introvert and that solitude becomes me, but that feels easy. I do like having lots of time to myself to think, but mostly I like to be at one with nature. I have wanted to tell all of those parents who were doing the teddy bear challenge, the one where kids were looking for teddy bears in windows, what if you had your kids identify all the birds they could see? Maybe one a day and learn about them? Am I a geek or what? But, wouldn’t that make them feel closer to nature and love this world a little better? Wouldn’t that be nicer than finding inanimate teddy bears in windows? Or, am I a lost cause? Anyway, enough loquaciousness. The poem. Thanks, Bjorn!
The Perception of Alone
Sunrise. Birdsong builds the morning caroling cacophony catbird, cardinal, robin vying for songstress of the day. Funny we humans define alone as being w/o other humans but all the life, the quirky, natural life abounding the squirrel hopping ever closer for peanuts the blue jay stalking from above, waiting to grasp just the right legume between its beak after weighing three others. The fox following behind on dog walks, desiring canine playtime. The raccoon at dusk arriving for peanuts, washing them in the birdbath. Who could be alone within all of this? However. Alone. Midnight. Clock ticking seconds down. This is solitary this is everyday quarantine or no. The time of loneliness of a creaking house of silence. A meteor streaks across the sky And, for a moment, you think someone else, somewhere, saw that. end