I’ve taken to cloud monitoring. Sad days when there are blue skies. It’s mainly the movement. Big old chunks break off from bigger chunks. Flail here and there in slow motion. In silence. The edges are full of detail as they threaten to interact with other edges. Sometimes they mingle and seem happy. This goes back and forth. At times it’s like great superstates battling. Like the Orwellian Oceana, Eurasia, and Eastasia, the battles are at the edges of empire— Vietnam or Afghanistan. Other times it’s like a great silent seduction. Once in a while they take a leak on me. Other times their orgasms echo though the skies. None of this is Zeus or Odin. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve not gone ‘round the bend mythic or evangelical. It’s just that they are wonderful and I’ve not noticed since I was a boy on the ranch and had flopped down in the fresh green wheat stalks and looked up.
Because of this virus I began to pay close attention to my nose. I was wrong of course. It’s not about the nose. It’s about the cough, fever, etc. But in times like these, no one is truly rational. So I was paying close attention to my nose breathing. That kind of attention is like a microscope. After a while I could experience every individual nose hair— each wavering in the inhale and exhale. Once when I was birding, a large biologist in front of me farted. I thought he’d be embarrassed. Instead, he just smiled and said, “Good air in, bad air out.” Words to live by. But right now it seems like all we’re trying to do is to avoid the reverse. So the more I paid attention to my nose hairs and their movements, I noticed that they were making interesting sounds, like wheat stalks in the wind. Like palm trees in a storm. Then it shifted to a long sad note like from a Japanese flute. I sneezed and there was Bird blowing bebop. Now I spend most days nose breathing Beethoven’s Ode to Joy.
None of us wanted it, some denied it would happen, a few knew it would and prepared. It came in a rage.The last second wave that hit took out my grandfather when my father was in utero and I don’t think he, my father, ever recovered though recovery means you have had something before.That’s why I was afraid of this second wave.Things were quiet through the summer.Some went back to the nearby pub, others had dinner parties; restaurants slowly opened.Folks went to work.I didn’t.I knew.I stayed in, washed my hands and wore a mask while I watched old noirs on the telly, occasionally switching over to the news, then quickly back to submerging myself into the flickering black and white light.I’ll admit it.I had become paralyzed with fear.That first sign was a slight cough, then a fever, then no smell, then fatigue, massive fatigue.I resigned myself to the end.It was not going to be pretty.But, as they say— serenity to accept what I cannot change… As I lay dying on the couch, TV off,waiting, hypervigilent for the next symptom, I noticed the big toe on my right foot began twitching.It wouldn’t stop.I hadn’t read of this symptom.I checked mayo.com and nothing like that was listed under Covid 19.The twitching began on my left big toe.Then both little toes.I quickly contacted my doctor for a telehealth appointment.By the time she got on line, all my toes were twitching and moving like Vlaidimir Horowitz fingers playing Rimsky Korsakov’s Fight of the Bumblebee.I started to explain my symptoms, but my laptop flew off my lap as my knees began shake.She ended up in corner in a clump.My thighs slammed together, my butt jerked back and forth so hard I thought it best to stand up.My chest heaved in a great breath, my arms spread and swung around in the air.“Covid 19’s got me,” I yelled as my legs began to jump up and down.My body twisted and turned.My earsrang and I began singing.I quickly looked down and saw I was tap dancing.My body was swinging and swaying.I danced to the front window to look for help, looked out and saw the street full of gyrating, tap dancing, sashaying up and down the street proud bodies.I joined them.