I thought I would start

by talking about today

About how the world, in my world, is all neon or pale green, or both

About how everything is buzzing - including my head

well, everything except the usual buzzing of cars and life in general

they have gone strangely quiet

Beautifully quiet if you ask me, which you haven’t

But, the frantic tick inside me has noticeably settled

The feeling that I am not doing what I’m “supposed” to be doing,

is finally silenced by spring, and gardening, and… oh yeah, the quarantine

The “introverts paradise” they are calling this quarantine

I would agree

The giant black fly buzzing about my studio however, doesn’t agree

He wants out

He buzzes around the room slowly bumping into things with a fat, heavy belly

It’s as if he’s made it through the winter by eating up all the other flies,

and now he doesn’t know what to do with himself

what does one do with silence anyway?

He wants to go back to the wide array of fast movement in the world

Silence makes you wonder about things you normally wouldn’t wonder about

like the eating habits of large black flies

like the exact proximity of the soul to the body - where is it exactly?

I let the fly out the window and go back to my quiet typing,

my quiet looking out the window at the world

But, it’s too late

the beauty of seeing small things rushes in the window with the breeze

The looking, the thinking, the noticing the movements in the world

the noble work of walking with your eyes open, the talk of normal things like windows,

and large buzzing flies, and most probably tea

these things sit like soft blankets and heal like salve

they invite the soul to dine

The dove coos outside my window and I wonder what else the soft sounds of silence will bring