For weeks, like many, I've been living with the reality of death. This is not news. Sure, death always exists. But, the presence of the virus, its constancy months into the pandemic, brings death closer to the surface. While the resulting anxiety and fear, bouts of hopelessness, are unpleasant side effects of these coronavirus days, there is a grounding that occurs over time. A resting of my attention. A desire to notice something other than the virus. To seek out life and signs of hope.
And that's what I often choose for my walks. Walking has always been a way to travel in and out of my head, to stop the chatter and focus on the around. Observe. Discover. When traveling, especially in cities, I spend days wandering unfamiliar streets, moments uncovering what I don't know is discoverable. But during these heaviness times, since I've been walking the same streets for 130+ days, I need to look for new signs, ones that help me breathe.
Yesterday, when out wandering with Whitman, I noticed this sign, but
I didn't have my phone camera, so I noted the streets and tree, making sure to return later to snap a shot. Remember the wishing tree and its hope. And even if I wasn't ready to pin a wish as others have done, to commit to a statement for all to read, I would consider and remember that wishes are still possible.
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