The Harvest

Since the middle of March, many of us have watched the people around us trying to grab hold of something that will make sense of the pandemic and the forced changes that have knocked them off their feet. I’ve always been able to shake things off. It takes a hell of a lot to cause me any level of stress and for me this whole pandemic thing has been no different; but I know a great number of folks who have really been struggling.

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The Sound of My Voice

A few days ago, as I checked most of my self-assigned coronavirus projects off my list I took advantage of a free offer to watch a documentary for which I’d neglected making time to see in the theaters last year. As much as I knew I needed to see it and wanted to see it, I also thought it would be a difficult 95 minutes of viewing. I can’t remember any other film that I ever had the same hesitation. Watching it at home seemed a better plan since I could pause the show whenever I wanted.

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It is Sunday, isn’t it?

The dogs have been fed and had their first fetch of the day. I’m hopeful I can have a quiet moment to write, so I’m sitting at my desk with a cup of coffee; the window is open to chirping birds, budding trees, and the crisp smell of spring.

Tiny Charlie is biting Emma’s ear. Two of my three dogs.

Aaaaaand…we’re finished. There is a playful growl to my left and I look over to see this. Yes, Tiny Charlie is in fact trying to eat Emma’s ear.

So much for a quiet Sunday. It is Sunday, isn’t it?

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