Fog shrouds my recent morning walk. Street lights halo both bare trees and evergreens. The moon, on the cusp of fullness, is setting in the west, hidden as day yawns to rising in the east. Despite dense fog, light is waking and crows begin their morning report. Winter chill is still in the air and the empty bench remains empty despite my desire to watch the unfolding longer. It’s not that I have anything pressing on the calendar and the quiet of the holiday lull (Martin Luther King Day) that has settled over the neighborhood almost lulls me into forgetting about COVID and the most recent variant, Omicron. Almost.
Lessons from the Pandemic: When Grief Stirs in the Bones
Those winds that whip the leaves off the trees predictably in November came in mid-October to the Pacific NW this year. You may have heard about the “bomb cyclone” off the Northern Coast of California that brought buckets of rain to soothe the drought for the time being in dramatic fashion. Mega-fire concerns replaced by mudslides and flooding. Yikes! A conga line of storms expanded up the coast to where I live. Yes, this drought parched region needed a thorough watering. But all at once? I promised myself I wouldn’t complain about the steady drip of rain until at least March and so far I’m keeping that promise. Check in with me next month as I seem to return from most walks somewhere between damp and sopping and may soon be growing moss behind my ears.
Lessons from the Pandemic: You Cannot Fail at Grief
They are back! Crickets’ evening chirping filling every crevice of air from twilight to well after moonrise. Softening as night deepens. It soothes me. The heat of summer has waned for now and fans are off. The constant whirl of blades and the clicking on/off of my portable A/C (to which I offer copious gratitude) entered my inner world as invader not kin. The return of the crickets offers a reminder. Reminder that this long, hot, dry season is moving forward toward autumn, my favorite season.
The unfolding of seasonal change. The monthly moon cycle. Visiting the Oregon Coast and watching the daily ebb and flow of the tide. This is the medicine I need—the reminder that time continues to weave a story beyond my own. Nature helps me step outside my story. Shift perspectives. Return to gratitude. I didn’t realize how much I needed that reminder.
Lessons from the Pandemic: Where's the Grief?
An invitation. A plea. Please, what ever you are doing in this moment—stop. Take a minute. Two. A half-hour. More. Breathe deeply if you are able. Too much? Then shallow, light breaths. Pants. Sips of air. If that is all your body can handle—take that in and then let those molecules slip out between your lips, one-by-one. Slide back in. Slow yourself down. Please. No hurry to read the rest of this blog. Set your phone down. “Sleep” your computer. Take time to nurture your soul. My words will be waiting. Step away for a spell and I’ll reconnect with you in a while…
