Pandemic Spring

August 2, 2020 Holly Hertel 4 Comments

Lovely weather? No. But the promise is here. There are red tulips about to open. Daffodils at their peak. Grape hyacinths rampaging over many parts of the yard. Drizzle of rain now and again keeps the air moist and also keeps it feeling a little cooler than the thermometer admits. Or is this just my body senses telling me so?

Almost, it helps to have these things teeming for my attention. Almost, it feels like my depression is the buried seed being drawn out of the soil. Does the new seed rejoice to be free to breathe the air or is it fearful of exposure?

Too much is uncertain. I am forced to stay home safe in my sweet fortress. As an introvert, I should be glad of this lovely solitude. And as a survivor of childhood abuse, I am usually glad to avoid crowds that remind me of the dangerous group that was my family.

It seems, though, that I have worked through enough of my trauma to arrive at the human imperative of community. Now, I miss people. I yearn for the fresh air of society with new outlooks I never could formulate by myself. This breeze is a balm to my curiosity. Who is this person? What do they think? How do they feel about life? What do they laugh about?

Of all things, it’s the laughter I miss most, like the gentle rain with a multitude of glistening drops when the sun peaks out of the cloud.

Laughter has saved me! What an invitation to not take life too seriously, to look at the quirks of it teaching me that none of it is under my control. Life is just out there being Life. I have more in common with people than not. I miss those mirrors of myself that remind me to be gentler with myself.

When I see tender seedlings in the garden, light green and small, almost transparent, I remember that seed deep inside me that’s raw and sweet, kind and gentle, vulnerable and curious. And I smile to feel the hope of a new day.