Peace possible even now

I’m feeling so thankful today; my heart is open. Self-imposed isolation is a time to read, write, go for walks. A friend has a cabin on the beach and offered it to me for a few days. It is just across the street from my house, but since it is right on the water, it feels like I’ve driven hours and hours away from my home to a quiet sanctuary. It’s just a dinky little place, but has a warm fire, a comfy bed, a rocky beach and, the bay of course. Skagit Bay. How I love it.

The first day the splash and clatter of rain on the roof sent me to the couch. Nelson, my cat, jumped up, head bonking me while I’m trying to read “Peace is Every Step” by Thich Nhat Hanh. The fire flickered.

At night the sky cleared and a full moon shown over the water, reminding me of poems by Sam Hamill. He wrote “The Calling Across Forever” – a poem that speaks to me of saltwater bays and the sound of loons calling cross the water. Forever.

My youngest son called to say he and his two sons are staying in and doing gym exercises at home and playing games. They want me up there next week to give Sebastian more piano lessons and help Sam with cooking. They are 16 and 14.

My other son and his long-time girlfriend are both professional dancers out of work and plan to go on hikes, a long drive, and have quality time together. I bet they get married. He says that this isolation we are experiencing is an existential strange blessing, though he is acutely aware of the pain and suffering many are going through.

When I open my emails in the morning to check for reservations for my business, there isn’t any. No one is going on vacation. People are staying home. The Italians are playing music, dancing and singing from the balconies, leaning towards each other.

At Pioneer Market two men touch elbows with each other.

As I sit quietly in my house, I think, this is going on all over the world in every household, across every nation. There’s something strangely comforting in that.

Judy Booth

Pull and Be Damned