Do we need to lose our breath for the Earth to get hers?
Will the sky appear in China without industry?
What is India without a car’s exhaust?
Will the animals come back if the hunters stand down?
Will the plants reappear if the clear-cutters are laid up?
I drive down the road and remember the Nashville I love.
Traded Los Angeles for a place more small town than city almost thirty years ago. Because of us it became a city. Ironic.
Now small town charm hangs in the air like a friendly ghost.
Space and intimacy are precious.
One fights to sustain.
We live in tiny tribes separated by things unfamiliar but not unpleasant.
We can buy anything, eat anything.
We can go to music venues morning to night.
Existence means some things are exchanged for others.
And we still find one another.
It just takes more effort.
Effort is good when it’s done with optimism. It’s not bad.
But I notice in this empty space that my optimism was a dwindling resource.
You know what I mean.
Last year I read a study out of England that declared loneliness to be the worst disease of our time.
It kills people.
You see? Social distancing is not new.
Are we at one end of a pendulum’s swing?
Is this Covid monstrosity the full tilt?
Will anything change as we emerge gray haired and naked before each other some time from now?
Still breathing for now.
Listening to the quiet.
Few cars drive down this street these days.
Every day is the third day of vacation.
It’s the fourth day when one succumbs to the reality that this life is not that life.
My time is my own.
What will I do to enjoy it?