Saturday, November 26, 2022

Dozing on the couch for my afternoon nap I can hear the former teenager outside on the front porch, talking on her cell phone.  A one-sided conversation. Her voice is light and giggly. She also talks to a friend delivering a half loaf of bread. I don’t quite follow the narrative. She is warming in the sun. I love hearing human voices.

Is there a virus with my name on it? When is it safe for an old immunocompromised woman to be out and about?  Hard to tell from the official announcements.  I am on my own in this decision. When I am scared, I remind myself that my body knows what to do.  My body knows how to live and how to die. I still wear a mask in buildings and mostly I stay at home.

The dead looking oak tree is showing some life. A few new green leaves.  The birds are visible on the bare branches. The bottle bush trees are robust and busy with buzzing and fluttering.

I am reading Martin Walker’s latest mystery story TO KILL A TROUBADOUR, A Bruno, Chief of Police in a small town in France.  This is the ultimate in comfort reading and sometimes boring.