We’re living in a different world now. It’s a quieter world. The Canada geese who winter here in North Carolina bleat their hoarse songs with no competition from the thick throb of truck engines. The tiny Carolina wrens slice the silence calling for mates and the occasional passing car offends the hush of a world whose distractions are, for the time being, unavailable.
And I am face-to-face with myself. The lists in my head of things to do: arranging to meet friends for our monthly outing; shopping for that one thing to add to my home décor which will transform it to my dream home; checking what’s on at the local theaters, movies and stage. The symphony tickets in their white envelope sit propped up against the vase in the living room, unused. Plans to get season tickets to the ballet, on hold.
The clearing out of photographs and mementos so my children won’t have to do it when I’m gone, taking clothes I never wear to the charity shop, organizing my office and shredding documents, all are there for me to do. The 6 x 6 canvases in my studio, pristine, waiting for my brush, lie unused
Yet I am curiously passive in the face of limited options from the outside world – bewildered, waiting – for what? For normalcy to return? That could be a long wait.