I hope that wherever you are, you can see the buds and blossoms.

When something big happens, it always strikes me as strange that everything else in life is required of us and will keep going regardless of our participation. Death always feels that way to me - like walking in a deep, roiling river and watching everyone else zip by, oblivious to my pain. But this is not like death. This is a universal death. Some of us are still going, but not without looking up and around in awe and confusion. The world has stopped, and we have to grieve 6 feet away from the ones we love.

My heart wants to see people and do things. I was looking forward to my life this spring. I envy the birdsong and the blue egg shells sitting like treasure in the grass. I envy the peepers, singing in rhythmic certainty. I envy the delicate blooms on the crab apples trees, glowing in the sun. I envy the moss on the tree bark, wet and vibrant, thriving and alive.

Everything is continuing, and although our manufactured worlds have stopped or slowed considerably, the rest of the inhabitants of this world have not. And so I sit and listen and watch, and find a new feeling to replace my envy: harmony. I want to switch teams. I will co-exist with the beauty that is oblivious to my ruined plans, unwashed hair, and anxiety. I’ll smile at my wet foot, deep in the muck of spring, and be thankful for the sun that will dry it out.

This is a blog about creativity, so I will begin my Halley Creativity School this week as a journal of how I’m occupying myself as we shelter in place.