Covid in Covert Observations
What’s lost on the young is how to courteously include someone new in a conversation. Believe me, when I say they need training!
Covid+ test, together we ran the code because anyone else would have had their socialized answer, automatic, not thought over, even a friction of a fraction of a second, just spat out, like a good doggie wagging his tail for a stale leathered ear.
We, quite suddenly, find ourselves in a war of spades, an invisible ghost we chase away with too much Easter candy and plenty of gingerroot! Spouses being forced to participate (remotely) in Zoom happy hours! How can this BE?
Children, in pink sidewalk chalks, scratch out pentagrams, circle in triangles bisected by only one, thin, dividing line and another where I blade by the Vincent Van Gogh look-alike-field, way down, over the trestle, there on the black asphalt scrawled, Don’t wery and I think weary/worry is to be avoided.
Across the mud, my eye meets that of the sketched-out ibis to Alderbrook, where I saw driving through, how one woman had every plastic goose she’s been able to find over fifty-seven years harnessed in place with rope—afraid to lose a single white bird to the resurrection.
Sometimes I have to be taken back-track out of reality in order to see it again. You too!? Is slaughter two doves in ancient times the same as kill two birds with one stone? Be holy and filthy in One?
Photo Credit: Gemma Evans/unsplash