Photo I took last year (2019)
In the morning, I scan through the news. And find myself shaking my head, lost, not understanding this new world we have fallen into. Statistics and frightening stories of sickness, isolation and death flood the papers.

Across the street from me, fawns are being born, damp fur covered in dew, wild rabbits chew on sweet herbal grasses, a coyote scans the horizon, a hawk circles the sky, golden mountain lions and black bear rest in their hiding places.

Outside, my bedroom window, the sky is a faded blue like a pair of well worn jeans. I can hear a lone car rumbling to life and on the distant highway, a motorcycle speeds by.

It is spring.

A time of renewal and new life. Baby animals and blossoms. Years ago, on this day I would be a single woman in her early forties outside feeding my animals with a cup of coffee precariously positioned on a stack of hay, my dogs racing to the pond for a morning swim. Baby chicks chirping behind their mothers, my month old twin goats Fonzi and Coco jumping up and off my step ladder like it was a small mountain, the geese honking and chasing anyone in their path.

This morning, my partner in bed next to me, more than ten years later, reading me job listings in faraway places. He is readying us for another adventure while we are still living this one. He asks me to be prepared to live out of a backpack. This is easy for me. Except for comfortable clothes, reading and writing materials, I rely on few comforts.

I have lived so many lives in this one life.

Now. The adventure is a virus that swims and circles lurking about like a Great White Shark. The promise of death teaches us to respect and cherish life.

This virus is refining what is important and what is not. It seems I can hear the birds, their songs and chirps amplified, I am paying closer attention to my body, how it feels, what it needs, I am finding myself stuck in a daily routine while watching another of my lives slipping away.

It is Spring.

A time of rebirth.

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