Recovery

Last night from my front stoop. I wanted to cross the street and ask the neighbor if she would turn off the lights inside her garage, but I didn't want to get shot. The cat posse was outside with me larking around in the grass chasing nightbugs and each other in the warm breezes. The skeeters took a pass and left me alone. Maybe I taste bad. 

 This is my third confirmed go-round with COVID-19. Each has been markedly different which stands to reason as the virus evolves. Comparatively, this one was lightweight. A solid week of juicy head cold and loss of taste and smell. But, as the days passed I realized that I might be experiencing a degree of brain fog. A quite useful state if you intend on meditating. Reaching nothingness is not easy for a normally busy, creative mind.

These days, it's been all too easy to slip into a state of too-stoned-to-move, staring off into space. I got mad about it yesterday and busied myself. Routine chores were the easiest. Laundry, dishes. Then I settled in to try pushing colors and shapes around. 

I went to ridiculous lengths with this. Pinning, basting, needle-turning - all rote activity. Without focusing on composition, a waste of time and energy. 

Nothing wasted cloth-wise, thank goodness. This has been dismembered and the bits stowed together for future consideration when my brain wanders back.