April 22, 2020 - Earth Day in the Pandemic

I don't know where this wind comes from, swirling, skirling, bagpiping over the marshland, then bossing about the big trees. Oak branches bounce and dance, wind-wrestled and wild.  The tall white lillies, small trumpet-shaped blooms incandescent in the dull evening light, jounce and bow, stirred and restless.  Ravens get tossed up, flutter in place, then dive down to safety on branch or power line.

I don't know where this wind comes from, why it scours this flat land, punishing it with a fury meant for someone else, some other target, the way a woman scorned burns all the dishes and never repents.

We don't know where this wind comes from, this crowned virus that burns through the human-scape. righting some ancient wrongs perhaps, settling old scores.