It has been like a million years since I have posted on this site for you. That is about to change. I also feel I have been in quarantine for a million years. But it feels okay, not lonely, just contemplative. Here is a poem about living in quarantine at Ruckle Road:
Ruckle Road Quarantine
My street is always deserted, that’s nothing new
what is empty is my table; too early for flowers
too dangerous for friends.
Yet, my kitchen, this sanctuary where I linger
to find my flavor of quiet-solitude brims
with the aroma of yeast and honey.
I turn the sticky dough and it clings to my fingers
warm and familiar, so much like the skin
of the grandkids, I long to touch.
Soon my kitchen will brim with English muffins
that I will freeze for a time where flowers
bloom and wine will flow again in company