BEFORE THE PANDEMIC
I didn’t see all of this — did I?
Rays of sunshine begin to brighten the morning sky. I step outside to see the grey and black baby squirrels on the green summer lawn. “Good morning,” I say, although I know they don’t understand me. Since the pandemic, I talk to the rabbits, the squirrels, the birds living in my yard. I watch the bunnies as they hop out from under the Japanese maple tree, like a tent it protects their nest. I smile as the rabbit kits nibble on flowers and clover. Their fluffy mounds of grey fur surround their white cotton tail.
I wonder if they know my voice and will keep eating as I walk closer.
One morning I watched a baby crow. I tap on the window to say hello; the tiny crow looks up, then sits like he’s frozen. I tap again and the crow turns his head. A moment later, I see a large crow hop out from under the bush where the baby is waiting. The little crow opens its mouth as the mother drops a wiggling worm into the beak. Quickly they disappear under the bushes where the yellow forsythia is blooming next to pink Azaleas. A perfect background for the black crows.
I’m happy to share the beauty of my yard with these creatures, to have their company.
Laura, my granddaughter was supposed to come from California to visit this summer. Ella, her baby, born last September would be old enough to travel. I was cleaning the high chair in the basement, thinking about buying a crib. Now we talk on Facetime. Ella reaches for me and grabs the phone. She listens to my voice and smiles.
I wonder how old she will be before I can hold her.
I watch the baby black squirrels run on the green summer grass. There’s no confinement for them. We travel further now. No longer just taking drives to parks, or finding a lake to stare at the water from a distance. We can swim, sit outside at a restaurant. I feel safest in my garden, with the bunnies, chipmunks and squirrels. I watch the Blue Birds and red Cardinals swoop over the lawn. The Sparrows float like dancers from tree to bush.
I take my almond butter onto the terrace, just a spoonful or two and I’m filled. The sweet familiar taste I used to devour before I left the house to go to the gym, or walk with a friend, or go to a library workshop. Now, I’m alone with the squirrels, the bunnies, the birds in my yard.
I think how lucky I am to have a garden, pots of flowers I planted in the spring are in full bloom. I water them early in the morning as the rabbits nibble the clover. I knew we’d be mostly home and I dressed my garden in red petunias and yellow lilies, fixed broken slates on the patio, put mulch where mold was growing. I replaced what I had ignored for years as I rushed to a class, to have lunch with a friend at Barnes and Noble, to go to the gym. That life has disappeared.
In this new life, I talk to rabbits, chipmunks, and squirrels. The beauty of nature is clear. I look up at the Copper Beach trees. They stand tall and strong, like soldiers watching over us. I didn’t see all of this — did I? — before the pandemic?
Tonight, a bunny found a flower pot on my patio. He stands up to reach the leaves. “It’s dinner time, but please don’t eat my flowers,” I whisper, careful not to frighten him away. The bunny stops nibbling and looks up at me. I step closer. Did he understand me?
I’ll be waiting with the animals until Ella finally comes to play.
