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Pandemic Journals
Dispatches From A Vessel Adrift: Part One (The Unexpected “Holiday”)
When The Pandemic Comes
March 21, 2020
Confined to our apartment, we have to make do with the artifacts of nature. While our friends who left the city before the quarantine send us live videos of themselves enjoying the outdoors, Adriana and I have candles that have been molded into the shape of pine cones as we burn a stick of Palo Santo to evoke the scent of a fireplace in the countryside. They tell us about trips to the lake and the mountains, showing us tree types they’re identifying for their child — the conifers, hemlocks and birch trees — while we tell them about tending to our house plants and orchids and the budding herb garden I’ve started in the kitchen window.
When I look into the rear courtyard these days, with its view of other brownstone buildings, and then take a moment to listen to the wind, it’s not unlike the sparseness of the desert. A discarded cellophane bag stuck in a tree summons a memory of parched bougainvillea leaves that have fallen from the branch to then become entwined in a twirling duet across a patio floor, such as what I saw at a house we once rented in the Sonora.
The sound of chafing paper is far better than ambulance sirens, helicopters, drones and loudspeakers…
