OYSTERHOOD is reclusiveness or solitude, or an overwhelming desire to stay at home.
Sunday walk. The essence of our present lives captured in two encounters.
Setting out, I saw a mousebird: fluffy chest, punk hairdo, long tail and all. I am completely and totally and unconditionally in love with mousebirds. Every sighting makes me happy. My love taught me how to identify them.
On the way back, I carried an injured laughing dove to temporary safety. The fragile creature felt warm and soft and utterly helpless in my hands. Probably in shock. No resistance. The eyes closing and opening slowly. The bird was found on the railway tracks by a teenage boy on a skateboard. The boy was visibly distressed about the bird, and embarrassed and apologetic about asking for help without wearing a mask. He tried to cover his mouth and nose by pulling up his T-shirt. Yet his heart was in the right place, and it would have been cruel to break it.
“Hope is a thing with feathers.”
And so is grief.
Every day, we attempt to fly carrying both in the palms of our tired hands.
Be kind. Stay at home. Wear a mask everywhere else.
“Physical distancing remains one of the key strategies to curb this pandemic.”