In March 2020—roughly a decade ago—when the pandemic began, I read a piece about about a photojournalist who began “a visual diary of intimacy within isolation, amid the COVID-19 pandemic,” published here: Stay Home: A Portrait of Confinement in Milan. From her home in Milan, Italy, Camilla Ferrari conveys how, “ordinary scenes and everyday patterns, sometimes paired together, take on new meaning inside the one-bedroom apartment where Ferrari finds beauty and comfort in the poetry of daily life.”
At that time, all three adult children had moved home for quarantine. Our home filled with the energies and interests of three 20-somethings. Still able to run outside in nature here in New Mexico, I wondered how different the experience to be in a one-or two-bedroom flat in Europe, without nature easily accessible. I marveled at what that must be like on my daily runs outside through the high desert. This knowledge lifted my awareness of the expanse, freedom, gifts of nature, and fresh air my runs provided, especially in a full house.
My runs also provide the gift of solitude, something during quarantine many of us crave. I have thought of the vastly different experiences of quarantine based on context; for many of us, we had young adult children move home, bringing whole new rhythms and patterns—or lack thereof. Others are separated from children they normally see. Talking with a dear friend, who lives alone, I realized the deep well of loneliness of those who live alone during quarantine, without the norms of moving within greater society, with the human contact of friends, family, and colleagues.
As many places around the world, here in New Mexico we entered another severe lockdown last week, due to the rising numbers in in our state and throughout the US. I thought again of the “visual diary of intimacy” from that one-bedroom flat in Milan. I tend to see bits of beauty in everyday life and stop whatever I’m doing to either savor or photograph. Wherever you are, and whatever the state of quarantine or not, the emotional weight of this pandemic wears on us all. I hope these bits of beauty from Santa Fe and beyond may bring a little of another world to your home.
I am a person of rhythms. The daily rhythms of my life create the foundation which makes all else possible. Integral to these rhythms are the early morning hours of candlelight, coffee, and solitude. During this time, I write, dream, and envision. I cherish this time, with only the soft light of the candles, lights hung around the window, my journal, and pen. It is when those rhythms are disrupted, as so often now during the pandemic, that I find them even more vital.
The daily rhythms of sunrise and sunset provide structure and mark each day. Rooftop sunrise, Santa Fe.
“November is chill, frosted mornings with a silver sun rising behind the trees, red cardinals at the feeders, and squirrels running scallops along the tops of the gray stone walls”. —Jean Hersey
Crosby begins, “1. November’s prairie is a sea of gorgeous foamy seeds. Exploding asters loosen their shattered stars against the winds.”
“Let’s go look for hope. Peace. Beauty,” she writes.
The Van Gogh French press and two cups reflects the pattern of our days. Luke and I each pause each day in the early afternoon to share a cup of coffee. Great care goes into the selection of which cup for each of us on that day. I treasure this time and these conversations with my 22-year-old son.
It’s official—I advanced to PhD Candidacy. Now to complete the dissertation/defense.
A gift of the every day beauty included receiving this beautiful photo and sharing with a Book Club to talk about Meadowlark. I just love this photo.
Speaking of books, a fantastic new writing book out by Linda Hasselstrom. Wise and wonderful.
A final gift from one of my runs, a reflection of the, “ordinary scenes and daily patterns that take on new meaning.” As I ran by this tree and saw this cluster, my first thought was, “Spider web or fairy home?”
I know what I see.