It’s hard to start living a larger life again after more than a year of hyper-vigilance. But things are starting to look better, and the return of spring certainly helps. It also helps if you haven’t been in it alone.
The fever lingers like the aftertaste of too-long winter,
but tamped down now across this half-vacc’ed nation.
We begin to gather once again, gun-shy, in little groups,
and try to reweave the ripped warp and weft of living.
A yellow-green haze of leaves unfurls, trillium bloom,
apple petals. The river runs high with upland snowpack.
Still I blink at the too-bright light. It’s a hard awakening,
as after dreams of fleeing faceless pursuit, ears ringing.
What this life (to which I cling with fearful fervor) will be
is yet to be. The tide is slack; who can tell whether next
it rises or falls? All I know is you are beside me, sleeping,
as you have for half a century. I am rich, at least, in this.
Whatever else comes, we will get up and have our coffee.
We will talk a little and pore over the headlines, sharing
the best bits and the worst. Having made our little plans,
we’ll walk out together, however hesitantly, into the day.