The birds are louder than ever, for once there not competing with the sounds of traffic or overhead planes. There is nothing in their airspace but the sounds of the morning; a dog barks, another down the block answers it. The bright red Bottle Brush tree in the back must be a high price condominium so loud are the songs of my feathered friends at eight in the morning. The chime of church bells tolling the hour sounds wise and celebratory.
I skip the headlines and pick up where I let off in the New Yorker with morning tea.
When the breakfast dishes are clear, I lay out my mat for a morning yoga stretch and follow with an extended meditation. It helped to have structure, and it grounds me in grace and quiets my impatience.
Depending on the weather, I take my daily bike ride through empty streets. I cross over the 10fwy and think how wonderful it would be if the freeway were closed to traffic for one day. I could ride to the beach and back again without ever looking over my shoulder for on coming traffic.
Due to climate change, our arid hot California spring has not been the slowly rising temps, instead the cool air comes for a visit. Yes, the traffic is slowly coming back, but we’re are alive after so many months of death.
I call my oldest friend, who had contacted the virus. I worry about him because the nature of the virus is that one has to tough it out by yourself. His voice sounds a bit more gravely but he is a survivor. My tomatoes are blooming and I am grateful.
John Shinavier, MA, Coach, K.N.Y. Instructor
