I open to sky    clouds and blue summer   yield to the peace of lying still   back eases into alignment   injuries subside    this life I wish I’d shared with you    I surrender to solitude, creation and writing    focus   lying in wild flowers like I did in my twenties, wishing you were with me    that we hadn’t been cut apart.

It’s the kind of July day when mellow music drifts in windows over neighbours watering lawns. You could almost forget there’s a pandemic   in Vancouver a break from forest fires, water shortages and heat waves, for a few days or weeks, an almost normalcy.  

Sounds of peace open time    ducks, quiet, trees in wind   gardening, reading    the hail of uninterrupted leisure   of choice. I keep going back to the window, a calm, safe life beyond these walls, mild adventure, connection.

I dance dreams that are plays, existence a learning curve, starting and ending on gratitude.

That moment when the sky cools I look to the sun scapes the glass jars on the counter create on the wall, each one different   catching the light in a unique way   the black cherry jar a mirage of diamonds, now a hummingbird angel.

It’s one of those days when the clouds break up into millions, an explosion of atoms into universe and we lay orange flowers on lawns, a tribute to the heroes on frontlines.   

Five hour meditation perfect for my back   rest, rest, rest, then yoga   the relief of accomplishment, an explosion of bright color, living spirit, oxygen released like worlds bursting forth   my breath the sails propelling me along an ocean   let me be longer    at peace    hope like islands of grass in the sun

What to do with my perfectly restored meditative energy   learning to keep wellness for health and service   to let go 

Gratitude for real community and purpose, a culture of meaning and kindness. Just by being in the world you’ve taught me so much about self-acceptance and love. We stretch like July trees, realizing we’ve grown.

The lightness of free time, voices cycling past my window in summer evening, the signal of permission, children’s calls, the freedom of not having to be anywhere, the return of time.

We’re all ordinary these days and there’s something beautiful in that, our regular unstyled hair and selves. Accede, bow, stay home, stay safe, let the eagles carry our dreams.

First published in The Pitkin Review