The world has been shut off for what… five weeks? Six weeks? I don’t know. I’ve stopped counting. But I’m still here, still telling my story, as well as the story of my imaginary journey. I’ll focus on here for today and resume the imaginary journey tomorrow. For now, you can visualize me, having said goodbye to my visitors, sitting on a train, looking at the scenery as I travel from Tajikistan to Uzbekistan.
Here, it has been spring, sort of. One day, it’s spring, and the next day, the snow falls. It is a bizarre thing to watch through the window. It’s nearly May, and the snow flies at random times. The ground is now too soft for the snow to stick to it. But, for a short time, it looks as if the ground is covered by a bit of confectioner’s sugar, almost like a cookie.
Then the sun peeks out and the snow is forgotten. For a while.
I spend a lot of time looking out the window. It has been a while since I’ve gone anywhere, partly because of the pandemic and partly because of the weather. So I watch the world through the window. I see snowflakes and people walking dogs. I see delivery trucks and cars and ambulances. An ambulance stops at a nearby home. I see fire company volunteers standing outside, all with masks on. They bear the faces of courage. Waiting as paramedics go inside a house.
A stretcher is wheeled to the ambulance. An ambulance door closes. Before long, the vehicles are gone. All is silent again.
It is the silence of sadness.
Today, I step out for a bit, and I see that the grape hyacinths and the daffodils have bloomed. They radiate the color and joy of springtime. The season that I love the most. The season of new life and soft pastel colors. The season of days that gradually grow longer.
There has been much sadness in my community and everywhere else, too. We really don’t understand what is happening. We need to hold onto something that oozes life and hope.
Something. Anything. Maybe a daffodil. Or a hyacinth. Or even a dandelion.