Quarantine journals: April 18

I stopped putting a tally in this space.

All numbers do is smear and blur the pain and fear.

All numbers do is feed the enemy’s lie that it has the power.

Today I took my dog on a long walk

in the woods. Deliberately,

of course. And just to see

if there’s any marrow left in the world.

For a time

when we were out there alone and all we could hear were birds of all kinds and the swish of still bare tree limbs in the wind

I almost felt

normal

again.

Just me and him

like the good

old days—when was that?

Oh. Yes. A handful of weeks ago.

I almost couldn’t remember

the before.

Or is it just that it hurts too much

to think of all we’ve lost so

fast? “Front only the

essentials,”

Thoreau said,

“living is so dear…”

Indeed.

blessed

let it not be

thought that from the damage done

in youth rises the irreversible melancholy of despair

for the Lord is my rock

and my salvation

blessed is he who comes

and many are the angels who encamp

around the innocent who live

on and beyond the hard,

always toward the goal

of

peace

small

Strongholds are hard,

risk required

to break the generations

of shame declaring the healing worse

than the barbed wire chains of pride

encircling the light-bearers like hawks

searching for the small, burrow-ers

making their way among the vines and weeds

towards truth.