Day and night have become a one-sided coin as we begin our fourth week in isolation. It matters less and less which it is. The neighborhood birds keep me more connected to the changing hours than the clock. I'm not complaining. I've lived on earth before, I prefer it, on earth meaning I've been tactually connected to nature before, as a child and as an adult including . . . once living for awhile in a one room mud hut with no electricity, or running water, a wood stove for heat, and corner with a hole in the floor for a shower . . . with my then-husband and our two children.
Being isolated like we are now is a great reminder of how we are always at the mercy of artless nature. All day I listened to a strong on shore wind battered the building where we live. Sometimes it hit then crashed over us the way storm waves hit then crash up over rocks. Other times it rattled, and banged things as it tore by. It's still blowing now. I imagine the roof tiles are quivering as I sit in bed writing this in the dark, waiting for sleep.
Being isolated like we are now is a great reminder of how we are always at the mercy of artless nature. All day I listened to a strong on shore wind battered the building where we live. Sometimes it hit then crashed over us the way storm waves hit then crash up over rocks. Other times it rattled, and banged things as it tore by. It's still blowing now. I imagine the roof tiles are quivering as I sit in bed writing this in the dark, waiting for sleep.
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