In an evening walk, I meet a woman I haven’t seen in years. We stop and talk for a few moments. She’s hardly been anywhere for the past two years, and we talk about how that feels. In the balmy evening, little bits of tree pollen float through the sunlight.
Never tall, she’s about my height now, and I’m really short, and I’ve gotten shorter in the past two years. But here we are, talking about lupines, happy to be alive. We exchange a hug — something that seemed forbidden, utterly scary, not that long ago.
Later, as I close up the house for the night, I walk across the dark lawn to my garden. The round moon, like a perfect drop of cream, rises. Frogs chirp.
Here’s one thing: the pandemic has made me think of each day as each day. A whole day — filled sometimes with hard things, or dull things, sweetness, or all kinds of things. But what does a day mean? A night? Nothing more, perhaps, than this: full and frogs and a moment to revel in this.
Stony Soil Vermont 
Thinking of ‘each day’ as important. The pandemic has allowed us to become more mindful.
A rare silver lining to the pandemic, perhaps…
A day means being with my daughter and never forgetting to express how much I love her because I wouldn’t be too sure of what will happen to me like the day when I was hit by an 18-wheeler truck. It was devastating for her. And although I’m alive, things were not the same again. But I thank the Lord for, still, being alive. 😊
My goodness. What a story! I’m glad to hear you survived this. Thanks for sharing.
I did, thank God! Thanks, too. I’m currently walking with a quad cane but I can’t stand still for too long so I am still in a wheelchair when we go out for groceries and some stuff outside. 😊😊😊 I’m still blessed, I guess. 😁
Last night we met up with good friends who moved a few years ago way away to Florida, Brett Ann. Many faces ringed the long, spacious outdoor table on the deck of the restaurant/pub, as the gathering dusk fills with chitters and chatters. Fortunate to be seated alongside the back-from-Florida guy, we quietly talk about getting through since March 2020, there and here. His wife, good, my wife, good, our lives, good. Work, evolutions, challenges climbed, conquered, more peaks ahead. Friendship endures, I recall in this age of social distance.
Thank you for sharing this!
Now I am out and about I think I can say I exchange conversation with strangers just about every day. I probably always did, but we do notice the smaller moments in the day now.
As our county is a week away from mandated masks again (I have never stopped using them) I am grateful for the deep connections I have via phone calls. I’ve never felt alone thanks to my tribe.
Back to a mask mandate?? Argh…. I know masks work, definitely, and I mask, too, but still….. happy to hear you’re still connected via phone. (I admit to using the phone more and more since 2020, often in oddly intimate conversations with strangers via work.) Hang in there, all of us.