May 15, 2020

Thought I would miss no days during the quarantine (seeing there was nothing else to do) I was wrong. Mornings I wake to fantastically rich dreams. Yesterday I woke with the phrase in my head “remember the spice.” I’d been eating the Gingerbread of the Gods in the dream, I think-- a luxurious medley of Hindu phantasmagoria brought on by reading of the Vedic gods before sleep.

The disease withdraws in recognizable stages. The leg, red and itchy-stingy is what chiefly remains. That, and exhaustion, and the inability to bring my thermostat quite up to par. I chill easily and end most evenings with Dale’s Afghan wrapped around me.

Yesterday I drove to the Carrier water parks along the river and walked not only farther than I head since the disease, but farther than I have since leaving Ireland. Full May lies upon the riverbanks, overrun with flowers and birds and a delicious disharmony of perfumes, honeysuckle and wild rose and whatnot hidden in the undergrowth. A pileated woodpecker sailed the near bank. Came home and chopped bamboo, and by those two thing I was annihilated, but happy.

AGMC Zoom rehearsal last night. People say choral singing will be one of the last things to return. The Chinese I ordered Wednesday remains unconsumed in the fridge.  Ready to take the next step with Sam-sam. I’ve let it revolve in my head like a growing crystal.

Sat on the front porch. Ants crawled in a long single line up one of the cement urns. As I watched, a mockingbird landed on the far side of the urn, where he couldn’t be seen, and began harvesting the ants. But he really couldn’t get them without becoming visible to me, so he let out a little chirp and flew to the utility pole, his body language reading “as soon as you go away I can get those ants.” So, I got up and went inside and let him have the ants. I suppose I would never be able to convince him he was perfectly safe gathering ants at my feet, I am so very big and loud.