Moving

by Michelle Wiegers

I find myself jealous of those who rest quarantined inside their homes,  while I have to pack every last item I own in order to carry it just a few blocks away.

And now as I reach around inside this new house, I keep looking for the things I know, certainties to hold me up, cushion me on all sides.

How do I know that all will be well?

Because the morning sun still warms my cheek, illuminating small flecks of dust on my glasses that look like layered circles of modern art.

Because the red squirrel still comes to raid the feeders I hang, not intended for him while the chickadee sings  his same vibrant song.

Because the ferns in my garden I feared had not survived the move  are finally unfurling their bright green bodies.

Because spring doesn’t know  the anxiety of uncertainty, but declares, through her gentle unwrapping of the world, life will come again.

(Originally appeared in The Path to Kindness, edited by James Crews)