stacking stones / talking to Samuel

It is not, so much,
the loss of coffee with friends,
or family visits,
that is isolating.
Rather it is the loss of chance encounters,
a conversation with someone stacking stones –
that unexpected realisation of another’s humanity,
that reminds us of our own.

I want to write something about spring

I want to write something about spring,
about the scent of the tomato seedlings on the window sill
about the way the tiny glassy hairs on their stems catch the sunlight
and glitter like gold and silver tinsel.

home teaching/learning

For the dVerse Monday haibun, “back to school“:

It’s Tuesday morning of the semester break, and I’m in the bedroom working on my online lectures and tutes: particle and rigid body kinematics and kinetics. In the background my husband is yelling at the kids – “supporting their online schooling” in the kitchen.

TO/FROM?

For the dVerse Monday quadrille prompt “heart”:

 

At the heart of the matter is “Freedom”
But there is a choice of prepositions:
TO
{speak freely; bear arms; move freely and assemble together}
FROM
{racial vilification; being caught in the crossfire; the spread of disease}
How many hearts has freedom TO broken?

 

I’m taking my teenagers and myself for our second covid test tomorrow, because they’re close contacts in a growing cluster. In the meantime people are dying and there are protests going on in Sydney and Melbourne, with people holding placards reading “freedom”. Sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference between freedom and selfishness.  

blanket fort

For the dVerse prosery prompt “clouds“, and for H_, the little one:

 

Yesterday the little one whimpered as the swab was inserted, while her brother sneered “my finger goes much further up my nose than that!” And demonstrated.
Today we are sunshine and storm clouds – like a holiday picnic on brittle ice.
The little one is collecting the eggs, telling me about a hen gone broody, making chocolate crackles for everyone and sharing them out.
I try not to snap at her to leave me alone as I fill in close-contact declarations, notify HR… and wait. But I do snap. And her sunshine is eclipsed by the storm clouds of my fear.
But these clouds are clearly foreign. Such an exotic clutter against the blue cloth of the sky that she is trying to spread over us. She raises her blue sky like a blanket fort, for us to creep beneath.

 

The prosery prompt:  it must be prose, no longer than 144 words, and include the lines “But these clouds are clearly foreign, such an exotic clutter Against the blue cloth of the sky” –from “Clouds” by Constance Urdang. Punctuation may be changed only.  

 

c’est la fucking vie

Yesterday morning, in the middle of a two hour face-to-face tutorial, my students told me Canberra was going into lockdown at 1700.  So, after tute, I checked in with my team, reset a bunch of stuff on my course site to 2020 version, emailed all my students, then looked around my office to decide what to take home… instant curries from the filing cabinet, a couple of textbooks, the fruit sitting on my desk… and, oh yes, my “little box of fucks” (for when you have none left to give – thank you B_ for that thoughtful gift)…  Grabbed my stuff, collected kids from school, and got home just in time to run my 1600 to 1800 tute online.  (sigh). 

Hence this, in mirrored refrain form for the Thursday dVerse prompt: 

C’est la fucking vie,
Here we go again…
and we retreat into our homes,
as another lockdown descends.

We bunker down inside, while
outside the virus roams,
as another lockdown descends
and we retreat into our homes.

sea cravings

All night the wind has roared
rolling through the trees
with a sound like waves,
and I wake with a sea-craving.
So I pour a handful of cowries
from the abalone shell where they have nestled,
unregarded,
since the last was added two summers ago.
Rubbing my thumb
across a smooth domed back,
the ridges of its aperture,
I remember the touch of salt water,
its smell and taste,
and try to hold it inside me
as it wells in my eyes.

 

I am grateful that we’ve been so little affected by covid compared to others, even in Australia, but I so miss the sea. 

Monday morning ha’sonnet: WFH

Isolation
does have some good
compensations,
for how else could
I sleep ‘til eight,
have breakfast late
and be on time!

Sunday morning ha’sonnet – “live free or die”

“Live free or die”
sounds heroic,
but please for my
sake be stoic –
don’t make me ask,
put on your mask.
Don’t choose for me.

100 miles inland

The wind in the trees roars like waves
rising and breaking, tumbling,
rolling onto sand,
and ebbing away.