A Perhaps Weekly Pandemic Periodical, #5

This is a loblolly pine's male cone

There are things where you are which were before you and which will continue to be after you.

The road on the eastern edge of our property, the one parallel with the ridgeline of the mountain, is named Pine Grove, and wouldn't you know we have groves of Virginia pines on either side of our property. These pines are not young; they are not shrubby about the waist. Rather, they are aged and hairy in the head and their boughs lean with the weight of their years.

A Perhaps Weekly Pandemic Periodical, #4

Things come and things go. There is a wind ever through our souls.

A baby cottontail now lives under our house on the mountain.

It is all open crawlspace under the house and only about two-thirds of it is sealed off with any sort of material. Anything—cat, possum, dog, bear, baboon—could crawl in right under the porch, and more than a few have.

A Perhaps Weekly Pandemic Periodical, #3

The mayapples in the vinca under the pines have bloomed. They bloom only one white six-petaled flower in the crotch of their stem, practically unnoticed under the umbrella of their lobed leaf. But from this sole flower comes a sole fruit, a mayapple, though I don't think it's really edible. You'll just have to wait till the fall to get your apples.

A Perhaps Weekly Pandemic Periodical, #2

When? seems to be the key question of these last couple of weeks. Not so much Why? or How? Perhaps a close second is Where? and Who? but When? really seems to be weighing on most people's minds. When will it peak? When will it hit my area? When will it be over? 

The answers are at best projections of mathematical models and inferences from what has come before; flopping the past over to reveal the future.