every day i record the new cases and deaths in the u.s. morbid perhaps, but one part of my documentation of these times. 2020 the year a pandemic raced around the world. and meanwhile spring arrived and the rains came, the sun broke through, and everything grew lush.
i’m up to my usual business of staying away from crowds and enjoying the company of birds, bunnies, and ground squirrels.
went for a lovely beach ramble on a lonely beach.
just driftwood and shorebirds. only a few homo sapiens.
lots of beach boulders.
someone made a pretty labyrinth. i saw the man who made it and thanked him. from a safe distance of course!
collected some beach treasure.
watched the clouds.
drove out to malibu for sunset the other day on empty freeways.
went walking by the arroyo.
everywhere there are signs of spring.
a bounty of things to be noticed.
including plenty from my front porch.
without the rush out of the house or the morning snarl of traffic i can eat a leisurely breakfast at the table. enjoy my coffee.
school is out until may 1. i’m working from home. figuring out how to communicate with parents and kids, dispense information, teach kids how to take charge of their own learning. and so on and so forth.
the cat posse is glad someone is here to let them in and out 50 times per day.
if i’m supposed to feel despondent and anxious about what’s to come, i don’t.
solitude makes me feel like anything is possible. also…
i love bees. and now i can spend a lot of time studying their behavior.
i welcome them into my garden.
everything is roaring to life with all of the rain.
i can’t remember a march when it rained this much.
a perfect combination of rain and sun.
from this mornings journal:
day 10 of social distancing. u.s. cases: 43,469 u.s. deaths: 545
just took pictures of bees on the blue echium. now am cloudspotting.
how happy i am to hear and feel the wind moving through the branches. stirring the leaves. rustiling sounds drifting down to me here on my chair where i sit on the patio in a pool of sun. the world up on my hill is marvelous and green. it rained all night and all the plants, except the poor cheri hibiscus, whose roots were ravaged by The Gopher last year, are strong and green. the plant kingdom is rippling with vitality.
massive cloud stacks above my head. brilliant white with grey underbellies. moving together and apart. i lean my head against the back of the chair and look straight up watching the drift. warm sun on skin. i love this world i am home to witness. it moves around me morning to night.
i heard about john campbell’s daily coronavirus updates from one of you. really enjoy checking in with him daily.
And the people stayed home.
And read books, and listened, and rested, and exercised, and made art, and played games, and learned new ways of being, and were still.
And listened more deeply.
Some meditated, some prayed, some danced.
Some met their shadows.
And the people began to think differently.
And the people healed.
And, in the absence of people living in ignorant, dangerous, mindless, and heartless ways, the earth began to heal.
And when the danger passed, and the people joined together again, they grieved their losses, and made new choices, and dreamed new images, and created new ways to live and heal the earth fully, as they had been healed.