I’m home – as is nearly everyone else in the world – but that’s not especially new and different for me. I’m home most of the time unless going grocery shopping, which, in these days of peril, is doable but not necessary at the moment. I’ve nearly finished editing the main copy of a manuscript on Franz Jung, son of C.G. Jung, for my 90 year old friend who was a Jungian analyst and knew Franz. She’s been working on said manuscript for some thirty+ years so manuscript is in bits and pieces. It’s been like putting a puzzle together. And now, with my memoir at the publisher’s to deal with, I decided to clean out some of the many files I have stored over the years filled with essays.
Maybe you’re as bored with whatever you are doing or not doing and could use a break. The following is from 2003 when we first started cleaning up the farm and put a camper up there. Actually, we thought about going up there when Kansas City shut down, but that would mean — well, getting on the road and not knowing what we’re driving into. The photo above and the paragraph and photo below will have to suffice.
“We just spent three days up on the farm. I didn’t want to come back. We’ve put a camper up there and this past weekend was our first time getting to stay overnight. In the evenings, the sun sets red, red, red. Amazing really. I know there was a big volcanic eruption in the Pacific a couple of weeks ago so I expect that’s about the time it would take for an ash cloud to reach this part of the world. Between the redness of the aura and the colors in the sunset, the air took on an almost purplish color, and as I looked out to the west over the tallgrass, the prairie looked like an African velds painting. A solitary bird flew some distance away. I’ve always liked these moments just before sunset – the wind drops, birds stop calling, a stillness reigns, a waiting, almost as if everything recognizes an end of time and holds its collective breath.”
We’re all holding our collective breath. Or breathing into a face mask.
My mother’s favorite phrase, “This too shall pass,” seems appropriate.
Be safe, dream of your favorite places, and keep your face mask handy.