Shrink
They are ever so tentative at first. They wonder if it's really safe to come out. They walk whisper quiet in the streets, huddled, nervous. Nature and her children creep around them. Skiddish animals retreat from roaming about city streets.
There are the loud ones, the non-believers. They litter the cities with noise. Shout, whoop, revel in their victories.
"I told you so" resonates from the rooftops as they dance a fool's dance. They embolden hesitant hearts. The scared ones come out. Masks are donned, lost, and shoved into closets of cleaning supplies.
The animals shrink back. Life leaps from canals and springs out of streams and all flock to the confinement -no- the safety of the forests, the rivers within them. City blocks aren't safe anymore. It is an impossible task, to reclaim what once was yours in the face of something so powerful. Nature calls them back to her, holds them tight. It's okay, loves. We tried.
The news outlets warn against reckless behavior. Paris sees more moonlight kisses then ever before. More parties, more concerts, more movies. Packs of people huddled too close for comfort, breeding grounds for disease. They are long past caring.
Doctors warn us. "Do not forget the danger of illness." Too late. We have already forgotten.
Admissions offices will collectively sob if they get one more essay about how the coronavirus changed a high school life. Life carries on. Nobody changes. We continue to live, destroy, and die.
Mother Nature sobs. What can she do to teach them to stop destroying her? Her body? Their temple?
She sighs. Nothing. I'm sorry, darlings. I may not be able to protect you for much longer.
not ready
now
you have no excuse
to stand still.
now
that the world
started moving again,
you are expected to go
back to normal,
too.
and you are
not ready.
pushed out
into the blinding light
of the day.
all those crazy sounds
and dancing colours
buzzing in your head.
everyone blooming
and prospering
like spring.
and you -
you are this bare tree
that cannot recover
from one long lasting winter.
social closure
“Hey,” I call out with a grin.
He looks up from his phone and grins back, all wonky teeth and crinkled eyes. He doesn’t say anything; he doesn’t have to say anything. It’s in the way he straightens his back and opens his arms, reaches a hand for me to hold. He pushes unkempt strands of wind-stirred hair from my face and lightly brushes my cheek. A blush tints his freckles.
“Hi,” he mumbles.
His voice has a slight rasp in it the way it does when he’s up before morning coffee. Peaceful, calm. Unguarded. It’s been a bit. His eyes half close. His lips fall into a lazier smile. He leans forward and plants a light kiss on my forehead. Better. I rest my head on his chest and take a deep breath. Cinnamon and chocolates; snow on Christmas morning. Almost Christmas. The autumn chill shakes us. The tip of his nose turns pink. He’s warm. It’s cold. Neither pillows nor comfort food could replace his big jacket and warm hands forever.
We stand in silence all the while, revelling in the sound of the great outdoors. The brittle crunch of autumn leaves under slow passing boots, the ring of shop bells, the rise and fall of his wide shoulders. He catches my eye and I find a smaller version of myself reflected in the dark of his iris.
“Finally.”
-
note
stay at home to keep your loved ones safe!
you’ll see all the people you want to see soon. :)
