In the course of an hour the view from the back porch transforms before my eyes. Afternoon sun shines contentedly, then is suddenly replaced by a rapid congregation of dark clouds. Light is extinguished as the clouds travel, but a break in this dark blanket allows light to slip through as well as rain. Raindrops are first sporadic, but a few minutes of these initial scouts give way to streaks of heavy rain. Lighting flickers in the clouds, but only ever a distant glow and not those blinding and defined cracks in the sky. The sky opens again, peeling back another layer to reveal the sun. A sun shower, the conditions for a fox wedding as some say, and the light glints off diamond water still plummeting from the sky. The colors change too- green to steel to something warmer. And then, the rain vanishes. A startlingly red cardinal lingers on the treetop outside the porch window before flitting away, returning the landscape to the neutral bluish grey as another phalanx of clouds assembles.
XXX
Temperatures passed 70 degrees yesterday and, with the sun, it felt like a day pulled from summer. While I managed to get slightly sunburnt reading in the backyard, the weather was a high point in an otherwise challenging week. Motivation has been in shorter supply in this third week of isolation and I’ve had greater difficulty sleeping. I’ve been more attuned to my anxieties regarding the state of the world and have felt a real longing for the physical presence of other people that this virus has denied. Watching movies doesn’t provide much comfort in this state of mind- everybody touching one another! And introvert though I may be, there’s something undeniably human about being in community with others and I miss that.
While this week has not felt particularly productive and anxious thoughts were able to take root, there have been many small moments that have brought humor, contentment, and peace: doing yoga with a group of familiar faces via Zoom, the excitement/wonder/”how does this even work?” of using aquafaba as an egg white replacement in a cocktail, cackling at the goofiness of “Space Jam,” feeling post-apocalyptic while wearing a mask to the grocery store, cooking with dried beans for the first time, satisfying a craving for homemade buttermilk pancakes, the joy of seeds beginning to sprout, drawing and drawing and drawing, reading and reading and reading.
I may hope for more things to be “checked off the list” next week- to be more positive and productive- but this week has acknowledged the the worry, the loneliness, and the uncertainty of these times. Unfortunately, I think this is going to be a long game- trying to learn how to cope with the good and bad while continuing to move forward.