Found on a moribund computer, briefly resuscitated,
and in no particular order,
the local walks, the home schooling, the home recording studio,
the silence, the decorated windows, the sourdough,
the distanced birthdays,
the locked down son from abroad,
the blue skies without con trails, the loud birds.
All strangely distanced even though the virus is still cutting swathes
through friends and acquaintances
with barely an interested nod by way of acknowledgment.
