Weathering hard times

A bit of melancholy and my bedroom window.

It was a challenge leaving bed this morning.

I rolled over and looked out the window to see a scene from a Robert Frost poem.

So, I stayed sheltered beneath the covers. Window cracked open, cold air blowing in. Thinking it was beautiful but also wishing for a palm tree and sand in my toes.

I’m told spring 2021 starts in little more than a month. Still, what the hell does it matter?

We’re nowhere near done with our current global pandemic and the finish line seems to be a mirage growing more distant each day.

Thoughts of post-pandemic trips to foreign lands, hotel stays, afternoon movie dates followed by drinks with friends also seem to ebb and flow as the vaccination process rolls out.

I have relatives who have received their first doses. Others not.

Fortunately, my 97-year-old grandmother is among those to get her first Fauci Ouchy. I’m grateful.

Yet, I am reminded of the words of Frost and weathering hard times.

Now close the windows

Now close the windows and hush all the fields;

If the trees must, let them silently toss;

No bird is singing now, and if there is,

Be it my loss.

It will be long ere the marshes resume,

It will be long ere the earliest bird:

So, close the windows and not hear the wind.

But see all wind-stirred.