And just like that, it is nearly February. Sunlight, the first sunlight in days, it seems, streams through the windows this morning, leaving puddles in which my tiny calico cat dances and rolls. The sky is clear and not quite blue. The light glitters through the cold dewdrops on the maples like some wild icy chandelier. Through the window, the fruit trees, long neglected last fall, are ready to be pruned. I am kneading bread dough. Its yeasty warmth left to rise overnight has filled my kitchen with a fresh sweet smell.
I am learning that things will continue. There will be order beyond the chaos. It slowly seeps in, lying in pools between the laundry and unswept floors, and I roll and dance in its comfort. So this is the “new normal”: appearing in glimpses and flashes between the surreal. In time, like the sunlight, its pools will grow and envelop everything in calm and warmth.
For now, there is bread dough.