An Aside

I woke up late today; it is raining, and I always oversleep on rainy days.

I went outside to take the puppy out and check on the bees. I gathered their sugar syrup feeder jars and chatted with them, noticing that they were irritated this morning and kept flying at my head, buzzing away. I assume they were annoyed with me sleeping in and annoyed that today will be cold and rainy, again.

I walked back to the house and noticed that some of the sunflowers are about to bloom. I noticed a mockingbird scraping her bill on an old piece of oak from the post oak that we took down last year. I heard birds sing and watched them balance on the power lines. The wind lightly blew, and it was cool, but not cold.

I smiled, realizing that if there wasn’t a global pandemic that threatens not only health, but economy and democracy, this morning would be have been purely gorgeous. And it is, of course, actually that.

I wish there was more information, anecdotal or otherwise, from the Spanish Flu Pandemic. I would like to read peoples’ stories and learn how the process developed, what turns the pandemic took, how people responded, and then how it ended. Perhaps I should go to the library…oh, wait.

I was really down yesterday: worried about everything. I was sad and angry and wistful and full of grief, all at the same time. It lifted sometime in the evening when I started sewing, so that is a lesson in an of itself.

This morning, this perfect morning, I will make some toast and get back to it. I am sitting at my table looking at my favorite Mola that I brought back from my zany trip to Panama 5 years ago, I am drinking tea, I am listening to the neighbor’s rooster crow from his little cell. The puppy is sniffing and snuffling around. Cody is sleeping. I can see the roses through the front windows, and the blooms of the Jerusalem Sage as well, and beyond that, the neighbor’s giant red barn.

There is peace in these moments; in this time, many gifts.

Date: 18 April 2020

Cases: 2,273,986

United States: 706,832

Deaths: 156,076

Mortality Rate: 6.683%





Autumn Hydrangea, Northeast Harbor

In the coziness of bed, with cotton blankets, a down comforter and a wool throw layered over me as my head lay nestled amidst a pile of feather pillows, my eyes opened lazily and I looked out the window at the sunrise.

Angel Place, Sydney, Australia (this is causing barn daydreams)

Over the roofs of houses came pink and orange light and horizontal bands of white and blue clouds. The roofs themselves were white with the thick coating of frost that stretched from edge to peak. As I lay there, gazing out at the sunrise, the orange changed all to pink and the clouds became white and larger. I looked at a thermometer: 28 degrees outside while I remained warm and comforted in my bed. Slowly, as the sun came up, over the horizon of Frenchman’s Bay,  just down the street from me, the stretch of water that I have come to truly love and try to visit at least once a day, the light became golden and then white with the clarity of a new day. The sun stretched up up up and over the roofs of the houses, causing the frost to quickly evaporate and then, disappear. Now, when I look out that same window, I see the shadows of tree limbs reflected onto the white clapboards of houses as the early morning light peels and paints itself over the day.

Lichen and Moss, Northeast Harbor

A grey-blue light, this morning time. The trees are all but naked: all the leaves have fallen over the last couple of weeks. People keep telling me winter is coming, and I know it to be true. I feel it. Late at night, the sky is so clear and the stars so bright it’s as if you could reach up and grab them, or perhaps take flight and travel up so far and never be able to reach them. The night sky seems endless, and I suppose, it is.

Schoolhouse Ledge, Northeast Harbor

There is a golden tranquility at this time of day — the quiet time before anyone else is awake and on the street (not that there are many people even at the busy time). Right now, we are losing somewhere between three-and-a-half and five minutes of daylight each day as we approach the solstice on December 21st, as we approach my birthday. It is hard to imagine the darkness that I will experience on those few days, before we begin to march toward the light again.

Shelf Fungi, Schoolhouse Ledge, Northeast Harbor

I think I will start getting up much earlier, so as to experience this beauty and joy each day. As I look to the right, golden sunlight is pouring in the window of my apartment whose windowsill is decorated with elephants. There is a white pine shingled shed in the back garden, with a green door.

Elephants Marching at Sunrise