Park Walkers I

Photo by Martin Boose

 The last Saturday Evening of November 2020
 
I should be counting the days of quarantine, but this sequester has thrown me back to quiet days in San Bernardino decades ago. Long afternoons sitting on the front yard grass, next to the barbed wire fence that separated the farm from our home, watching the brown and white cows chew cud, standing stoic in the field. There was the quiet of swirling gnats surfing air – the quiet of ants crawling up blades of grass, the quiet of time wrestling in my nose waiting to explode in a sneeze. I am allergic to everything, but I want to be outside in the hum of waiting.
 
That is what quarantine feels like for me. ​I walk the park while waiting fo more only to realize 

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