Click the play button to hear me read this to you. It feels like a time for reading to each other, I don’t know… I hope you like it and if you do let me know and I can read more each day….
Fairly unnerved, I sit atop the little bed in my writing room sipping coffee and staring blankly out the window. Birds are chirping their various greetings and announcements from trees near and far through the dense fog which obscures a clear view of anything in the distance. The thickness of the air is strange but other than that the scene appears much as it always has. Early morning, hazy light. Rooftops among bare branches, tiny windows and inside them, tiny pale yellow lights. I can hear the rushing sounds of the highway a few blocks away, but on my street the parked cars stay put. Dog walkers, a runner, but no children walk by to school. No school. In a time like this, with the COVID-19 virus spreading like invisible wildfire, it strikes me that there has never been a time like this. Not that I have lived through. Hope to live through. And I look around me, observing, as any artist does, the reactions and emotions of people, and of myself. I see cycles. There are spirals, there are tracks we race around like figure eights, climbing up, spinning down. I go from anger to fear to rage to rage to fear to anger to planning to compassion to love to strength to helplessness to hopelessness to heart, and all around and back again in a matter of moments which repeat in a loop but the loop feels endless and new and dreadful and old and stale and jarring and shocking and surreal and numbing all at once. Repeat, repeat, repeat, check the news, repeat. And coffee. Much coffee. And while over the past few months I have told so many stories I’ve lost count, the only thing I can think about right now is nothing and everything in a terrible clashing symphony inside my head. My little plants reach for the sheer washes of light which mist through my open window. They are green and leafy and reaching, little creatures of springtime silence. And I thought I would read this all to you, let you hear my voice. Not because I have anything profound or even necessarily helpful to say, because I don’t. But some voice inside keeps asking me to be a voice on the outside, maybe just to let you know I am here. And in a way, here with you.