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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required I miss the nuances of daily life while weeks are frozen in this quarantine. I miss the lost normalcy of my days in all aspects, obvious and unseen. I miss turning my head to read the spines of the novels on the library shelves, I miss the crackle of books’ cellophane and the old people who sit by themselves. I miss the box scores in the sports section as I wait for lunch in a diner booth, and I miss the plump and jaded waitress, but that’s only if you want the plain truth. I miss my beer at the neighborhood pub on evenings after lackluster classes, I miss the Golf Channel on the TV behind the barkeep cleaning pint glasses. I miss taking my time in the market, reading labels and enjoying the task, instead of quickly grabbing my items and donning rubber gloves and a facemask. I miss the sandy and rocky shoreline where I have daydreamt and cleared my head, where now I am greeted with BEACH CLOSED signs posted on padlocked metal gates instead. Living in quarantine is not that bad; it’s tedious rather than being hard, and it’s produced time for me to reflect in the pastoral setting of my backyard. Weeks of thinking and puttering about in the grass and gardens of my home has made me appreciate the beauty of Mother Earth without having to roam. I have witnessed old man winter depart and have seen the harbingers of the spring. I’ve noticed the nubbing buds on the trees and the melodies of the birds who sing. I have admired my stately blue spruce and my red and squat Japanese maple while sipping my afternoon cup of joe peacefully at my patio table. I’ve spied on the squirrel digging up nuts like a pirate retrieving his treasure and a cardinal at my stone birdbath has never failed to give my eyes pleasure. I’ve scattered seeds for a plague of grackles, who peck around my lawn and garden beds. I look at their yellow and piercing eyes and iridescent blue sheen of their heads. I have watched the stout red-breasted robin dine on worms as if eating spaghetti, and the flowering trees drop white petals like midnight revelers with confetti. The quarantine has reacquainted me with the microcosm out my back door and allowed me to connect with the world that I basically neglected before. I will watch through the late spring and summer and be buried in books come September. It won’t be the virus or the quarantine, but the birds and the trees I’ll remember.
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