the yellowjackets

the yellowjackets

that lived in the deadspace between rooms

and visited too often

are gone.

i do not miss them.

Accounting II

Patches of snow lay on the grass, islands of snowflakes succumbing to the January midday sun. They'll evaporate soon, but it's ok. There's more snow in the forecast, and temperatures will be measured by single digits.

Pandemics bring out the best and worst of us. Or maybe, pandemics strip us of conspicuous behaviors and leave only the true self exposed to be seen and judged. Or maybe pandemics don't do a thing, and it's just the latest excuse for humans being human. We didn't go crazy in February 2020, we just quit pretending like we weren't all along.

If you were wondering, yes, I tried keeping bees again. It was my third and final try. The colony was aggressive, and for once I felt afraid when handling the frames. I'm too tired to be voluntarily afraid these days. I left the bees to fend for themselves deep in the woods. They made it this far without humans, I trust they'll be fine. Then again, single digit colds can squeeze even hardy bees, and these specimens were raised in the Florida panhandle. I do hope they're okay.

Still an optimist, though the distinction between optimist and lunatic is less clear these days. A small box falls off a freight train; the train carries on. It'll be okay. Slow music and golden light will see us through. It's always the humanities that save us from ourselves. A little less TikTok, and little more Thomas Cole, please. Remember museums? Yeah, me too.

I've bought tickets to more concerts in the last two years than in the decade before. I've attended none of them. But my wife and I had the joy of introducing our daughter to The Nutcracker at the Warner Theatre, before omicron dashed the already muted hopes we had of having covid-19 behind us. Such bright moments illuminate the darkness of these days. But I'm not greedy; I'll take one a year, thanks.

Maybe I'll lace up the trail running shoes and learn again that I'm older than I've ever been before, because I'll never be this young again. Or overpack for a walk in the woods. Find a spot of quiet away from the overpass. Or maybe give up and continue to check for updates for everything.

We'll make the most of this year, dear friends. Or maybe, it will make the most of us.