Amidst the wale of sirens, an aerie, unnatural silence has fallen, here in Brooklyn, New York. Covid-19 is here. We have been asked to refrain from non-essential travel, to #stayhome and when we need to go out, to ‘social distance’ or pass our fellows with at least a 6 foot berth. We carry hand sanitizer, keep our hands away from our faces and we leave our houses at a minimum, in order to exercise and food shop. The subway continues to run with a modified schedule. The roads are clear of most traffic.
The birds are building nests and singing to attract mates. Trees are blossoming. Daffodils are breaking ground and opening their bright yellow trumpets. All while some neighbors shutter their homes and others come down with the virus. My Man, thankfully, is able to work from home, and I was temporarily let go from my part time job. And while I can apply for unemployment, the NY state unemployment website has crashed and the phone lines drop calls, just before the final filing step. So many people are trying to apply at once, and the system cannot support it.
Going to the grocery store feels like a threat, as everyone needs food and there is no way to tell who might be infected. This is when the numbers and statistics begin a cacophony of warnings and protective barking. 1 in a 1000 people are infected. 27,000 people live within a square mile of space, here. The mayor suggests that 40-80% of New Yorkers will become ill. NYC needs ventilators and our hospitals are running out of much needed supplies.
I continue to Dance Walk, leaving my home early. Walking the less trodden areas. Crossing the street upon coming up on a fellow. Unfortunately, the gateway to viewing the Lady Liberty has been locked, for the time being. I will find a new way to visit her, she is my balm. This is the last image I took of her:
In the meantime, my Man and I are doing well enough. My city doesn’t sound right. This does not feel like the hope that spring usually embodies. None of us know how long this will take. All we can do is take care, wash our hands, be brief in our outside endeavors, while we remain in good cheer.
I think the worst thing is that there is no “normal” any more. We’ve grown accustomed to the regular daily portions of life and usually we know what to expect. When that changes, without warning, we’re left with uncertainty. Sitting around and waiting is HARD. Not knowing is HARD. Even the simplest of things seems HARD. But we have hope… we need to hold on to hope.
This is really difficult, no doubt. But there is wonder here. The entire world is experiencing this shift. Who knows what will come into the space this change creates.
I am glad you and your man are well, and I pray you will remain healthy.
Thank you.