I swam for the first time in months today. I met all the new requirements: arrive in bathing suit, answer screening questions, depart via back door. The pool was blue and clear and absolutely empty.
Over recent weeks, I’ve missed the distant clamor of cheering crowds at the high school. I can usually hear football, soccer, softball, spring track meets. When I go walking around the high school (sticking to roadways, safely oriented), I am struck by the emptiness of parking lots, fields, track and bleachers. On a spring Saturday, there should be busloads of runners, the pop of starting guns, pounding feet, amplified announcements, picnicking families and friends erupting in local hurrahs or cries of disappointment, a noisy, daylong, outdoor affair. But there’s only a vast empty space, maybe a solo runner or walker. A woefully silent world.
My 60th year in 60,000 words
Day 282: 139 words, TOTAL = 47,322; 12,678 remaining
Robin Clifford Wood is a writer and writing teacher. She lives in central Maine with her husband and dogs, loves to be outdoors, and enjoys ever-expanding horizons through her grown children and their multi-species families.