Love In A Challenging Time

Honestly, it is hard to love the land right now. Usually I leave Texas in July. When I step out onto the back porch at night, it is still. It is hard to breathe. The slightest sound or movement makes a crunching sound, like nails on a chalkboard. The wildflowers have passed. The grasses have gone to seed. The world has become a shade of beige. The birds are quiet, and the cicadas have taken over. Their song is intense, rising, almost pounding, lacking any musical quality. I can’t leave. I am here because of the pandemic.

I realize I have been angry at the land because it feels like it is failing me. It isn’t offering the inspiration I seek. I have to look more closely than ever before. Sometimes I have to force myself to stay on the porch even for ten minutes. It is easier to turn away, to dream of next spring.

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