After Beggary

All day, your knees are in the dirt and power shifts from shoulder to back to arm to ground. Under a few inches of vines and soil there is almost a bedrock stones ranging in size from fist to sliver dollar. A shovel cannot penetrate so the hours are spent jabbing at vine roots with a soil knife. It takes a few hours to do an eight foot area. But daffodils and hastas and a few tulips are rescued in the process. There will be more color because of the work. My heart overflows. Really, this makes me so happy.

During the pandemic there is little control. Working outside as the weather allows gives a purpose; I receive it with open, aching arms.

Daffodils – freckles – catnaps in the patio chair!

A friend drops off s'more supplies and after sterilizing for virus remnants, I grill brats and veggies for dinner. It's only 50 degrees outside but if feels like heaven – after winter – after meager light – after beggary. After one beer, you drink another and you remember other warm things.

At night, a bonfire. For the first time in weeks, trees are dotted with exploding pinpoints of light and a half moon practices its magic act with filmy passing clouds. The quarantined streets are quiet and neighbors are tucked away for the night. After all this time together, we don't have a lot to say. Lexi burns papers she saved from years of school work. Beck keeps the dog from getting too close to the smoke and heat. Kyle holds the weight of uncertain employment and making it all work. I poke the fire and my heart, finding both scorching suffering and the salve of happiness.

This pandemic has altered the status quo and yet, so many have become even more entrenched in ideology and corruption and derision. There is good and love, too. These overlapping forces of paradox energetically fuck with me. A collective sorrow mingles with anger and frustration, while at the same time, an emotional outpouring of sacrifice and compassion abides. A question of direction and hope also remains: will we walk through this portal of change and make things different? Better? Lovelier?

The stars don't answer. Neither does the moon. But you do. Wordy you.