Quiet Moments of Quarantine

I haven’t felt very creative lately. I can’t decide if it’s because I’m in a rut or the world is. I normally seek out the news with relish, absorbing every story, but lately it feels like turning on a faucet to quench your thirst with a few drops of water, and instead a waterfall of plague stories rains down on you, filling your mouth and lungs, drowning you. Granted, there are uplifting moments thrown in to disentangle all the heavy, but heavy it mostly remains.

In the day, I sit by my window, watching the life among the trees outside. Squirrels and songbirds carry out their normal business, scampering and chirping about. Bicycle tires scrape along the asphalt of the road, made sticky by the heat. Snippets of conversations between passersby are carried through the air. Dog paws lag down sidewalks several steps behind their owners shuffling ahead to nowhere in particular. And the sun sits overhead, watching identical days unfold.

I took some time off from writing because I was feeling uninspired by this cyclical purgatory. I’m not entirely over that feeling, but “get back on the horse” and all, so here we go.

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I was in my backyard the other day and a hawk flew overhead. It circled for several minutes weaving through treetops before disappearing into the clouds. This is not an uncommon sight in my neighborhood, as there are lots of critters in the wooded areas, but I have noticed the emboldening of many creatures within the last two months. Deer walking right through the lawns of houses and across cul-de-sacs in daylight hours. A coyote running across the street mid-afternoon amid cyclists and pedestrians. And not to be outdone, as Florida’s pride and joy we never asked for, snakes. There have been a multitude of snakes on the roads, and albeit terrifying, it’s curious why they are choosing to come out now, when car traffic is down, but foot, is up. I wonder if animals can sense that a shift has occurred. I see it in the eyes of faces behind masks in grocery stores, smiles hidden or altogether absent. Do the animals feel it too?

It’s a wonder what life will look like following this. I keep thinking about the Great Depression and how the residue marked an entire generation with mindsets of caution and frugality. What will the Coronavirus generation look like? Will we hoard clorox and hand sanitizer, masks and gloves? Will a handshake remain as the standard formal greeting? Will we reserve hugs only for those we hold dearest? How many times have I run my fingers over the fabric of sweaters hanging on racks in little shops? It’s such a habit and I’ve never thought twice about it, but now I will. Touching a monument or statue created a moment of togetherness with everyone who has placed their hand on the stone, but those hands come with germs and I’ve never thought about that and now I do. I’d like to think once a vaccine is in place, these small moments of touch and feel can be treasured again, without the fear of illness.

As I sit here and ponder all of this, another squirrel has materialized. It leaps across branches of the oak tree outside my window, sinking its claws into the bark of many trees as it makes its journey, not phased by anything. I hope one day soon we can be as carefree again as this squirrel.