March is the hinge between winter and spring. One day I'm shivering in my winter coat and hat and two days later the sun warms my shoulders clad in a light sweater. The wind roars and then settles into a gentle breeze, sometimes in the same day. The temperatures rise and fall and then rise again. Snow follows sleet and then turns to rain. The cranes fly. They stop in the Platte River Valley to rest and feed before resuming their journey. Light, not temperature, guides their transition between southern and northern habitats.
This March feels like a season of transition between pandemic living to whatever lifestyle comes next. Vaccination, although it brings a sense of relief, doesn't erase all of my low level Covid anxiety. Covid-19 is a still a nasty disease and uncertainty remains. While the disease touched our extended families, everyone has recovered. It could have been otherwise. Vaccination does not erase the loss of life, health, or livelihood experienced by so many. Still, the news about vaccine efficacy is encouraging. I am hopeful that vaccinated and masked we can travel soon. More than anything I want to see my family, near and far.
Like Spring, this season of transition will bring ups and downs. Standing on a soapbox looking out at the green creeping into the landscape, I choose cautious thoughtful hope. One way or another travel protocols, routines, friendships, and milestone celebrations will rearrange themselves. While I follow the CDC guidelines, I work on kindness, respect, and grace to move through this transition. In the meantime, the daffodils out back might bloom today. Two weeks from today, another vaccinated friend and I will meet (not in a coffee shop) for a cup of tea and long catch-up.
Ever so gently, placing one foot in front of the other, I find my way. I wish the same for you. Safe travels. Namaste.