Poet Jon Bishop reflects on this time of disease and anxiety:


It’s quiet now, but there’s a pall

blanketing everything,

like midnight snow in a field

stalked by tall, thin trees.


The birds chirp. The wind licks

the grass. And the sun bursts

from beyond the horizon,

bluing the sky.


You can see it when you look

out your window, a prisoner

of wall and glass, so you pause,

take it in,


but then hear two screens

calling your name, and so

you answer them, type away

at colleagues and others,


all while reading news

of zapped finances and viruses

and death, death, death,

that thing lurking always


just below our balance sheets and comforts;

so you shiver, swallow, gaze again out the window,

see happiness, hear singing,

reminding you that


nature ticks forward, in light and in dark,

while we, unseen, stare outside,

our mouths agape

at the indifference of the stars.



Photo by avi_acl (Pixabay)