Helen Rousseau

No hugs hello or goodbye, only caution as we place our chairs six feet apart.

Seven months since this virus began and moved steadily around the world.

Five months since we heard the command to quarantine, to prevent death.

A “flu” that was supposed to disappear attacked with fury instead, not giving up control.

Weary of being careful, we want to break out of detention, but the daily numbers keep us home.

In my solitude, I ponder the grace of each moment, the time to be present to myself unconditionally.

It is a time for patience and courage, to renew commitments to hope. in the present and for the future

Hummingbirds sip the nectar from the feeder provided them. Squirrels run to and fro, chasing each other and raiding the bird feeders. Rory, my black cat, sleeps in the sun knowing only comfort.

Hospitals are overburdened. Loved ones die alone. Fear, a great motivator for wearing masks and social distancing. Yet some choose self over the greater good.

Let safety begin with me, love guide my every choice, as I keep moving with hope toward a better future. This I believe: We are one community that will survive or perish together.

As the first flakes of snow are falling, a wintry blast swirling them around, my focus, out this kitchen window catches sight of a brown oak leaf clinging, in its vulnerability, to that naked branch buffeted by the wind.

I see in that leaf what I was but no longer am, no longer holding on to what seemed permanent, knowing when to let go, knowing that surrender leads to transformation.

Some days I hold my life in my hands, everything makes sense; the future bright and promising, the past a bitter memory.

Some days I have every reason to be grateful: for friends and a future unfolding, a life with meaning, the past no longer holding power.

And

some days I just weep