It’s a strange time; I doubt that anyone would disagree with that assessment. The contrast between this drastically altered way of life with the burgeoning of Spring’s beauty all around is difficult to absorb. Much less make sense out of. I think it’s not something we can understand in any logical or rational fashion; we must simply move through the days in the best ways we can fashion for ourselves.
I am fortunate. I’m an artist. I live and work alone, and have for some years. This sequestration is not generally hard on me, or difficult to tolerate. What’s disconcerting is not spending time with friends, long conversations over breakfast or lunch, warm hugs in greeting and farewell, the sense of connection as eyes meet and hold, the pleasure of shared laughter. I miss that acutely on some days. Spending increased hours on the phone somewhat allays the desire to be together, but leaves me only partially satisfied. As a long-ago friend would say: “It’s better than a sharp stick in the eye”.
The garden is exceptionally lush and beautiful this year, though it’s been a relatively dry Spring. It reminds me many times a day of the reality of the world outside these walls, standing juxtaposed beside the anguish and confusion of the world-wide situation of disease and turmoil. It also brings my thoughts to the heartening truth of deep human care and connection in the face of terror and death, another element of the reality in this world.