Nothing to fear

Spring has sprung

The covid-19 lock-down has come. Everybody who can is working from home. Many who can't are
unemployed. Pitty the waiter, the house cleaner, the librarian. Schools are all closed, as are most public institutions.

Some are voluntarily "self-quarantining" while others are quarantining involuntarily. Everyone else, notwithstanding young people who are, by definition hyper-social idiots, is practicing "social distancing". My brother, an electrician, was sent home because he had been in the presence of someone who has now reported some symptoms similar to the flu. No actual contact; they were just on the same job site.

No one knows how bad it will get. No one knows how long it will last. Everyone is just kind of waiting to see what happens.

No one knows how to behave. Store shelves are bare of toilet paper, flour, sugar, beans and pasta. Something has snapped in peoples' minds and they are panicking. There has apparently been price gauging of hand sanitizer and local distilleries, unable to operate tasting rooms, are now using their facilities to make artisanal versions of Purell out of the waste from their usual distilling. Hmm, oakey with notes of butterscotch and vanilla. I'm sure they're happy they have something, however small, to help keep the wolves from the door for even a little while.

In what seems a paradox, Spring is springing. The cherry blossoms are in full, magnificent bloom and our part of the world is flushing vibrant green as the days get longer and the regular afternoon rains bring life back to what has felt cold and dead. Walkers are stopping to photograph our tulip tree which is exploding with an intense profusion of pink bracts, and daffodils are peaking like a deadhead full of blotter.

How, in the midst of such a colorful, life affirming season, can our lives have become defined by a virulent infectious virus? How can the zeitgeist be defined by fear when so many signs of hope surround us? The contradiction is inescapable and jarring.

Daffodils - rebirth is in the air

But just as the daffodils fill me with optimism and anticipation of the season to come, there are moments of hope. In the midst of this quiet horror, with the global death count around 11,000, the number of reported cases closing in on 300,000 and most of the world's economy at a near standstill, my windows are open and I hear the sound of children playing on the bike path next to my home. I hear their parents cautioning them as they approach the street crossing in front of my house. They are home all day with each other and these outings, if only to run or ride up and down the path, to get outside, to burn off some pent up energy, are probably necessary survival mechanism.

But what would usually annoy my childless ears - the exuberant shrieking of a child as they descend the little hill by my house on a bike, a skateboard or their feet - strikes me today as a promising sign in what could otherwise by a time of darkness. Let 'em yell their little heads off. I know the feeling. I might just go outside and let out a bloodcurdling yell myself. Might do me some good.