For me, the last couple of months have been a strange blessing, a teaching in letting go. The lockdown in San Antonio has been in small bows to Cover-19’s rising numbers, which now thankfully seem to be stagnant. On a clear sunny day, when the heat of the day is still soft and there is competing bird song, Summer is not so far away now. It is the 114th day of 2020. it is hard to believe there is any danger of disease. Still, we put on masks and gloves to wander six feet apart from neighbors in the grocery store’s depleted aisles. We bemoan the lack of lysol, flour, yeast, and the signs limiting dairy and meat. We stiffen at any gentle cough or sniffle in public when we finally do go out. But too, perhaps now we are gracefully slowed. The media has continued its relentless coverage of deaths and illness to the point where it’s noise has become a blur and no longer brings a rush of panic. The first few weeks, sleeping was difficult. Worry was in my dreams and all waking hours. I remind myself of the recovery numbers now instead. I am in no hurry to get to a theater, or go to a salon, though yes, when we can I intend to savor it. There is a definite feeling that life has changed, but it is okay. I am spending more time in my garden. Reading books that have been on my shelves unopened for too long. Opening up my craft closet to finishing those things begun and then cast aside due to being so overly busy. I am cooking, pulling out recipes from my books and notes stuck inside saved magazines. I am sitting with the dogs longer waiting for the sunset. We are lucky. There is a roof over our heads and the pantry is full enough. And when the morning does come, I might linger just a bit in bed watching the light instead of going through a mental list of things to do.