We rescued this Victorian chair from the dump a few years ago. Now she sits in the barn dusty with hay. The way the worn pink fabric hangs from the top of the chair makes it look like she’s wearing a shoulderless dress.
I got up as the sun was rising this morning. I was feeling low and thought waking up with the sun might help.
Fate and I walked into the woods behind the house. I wasn’t yet light, but my eyes adjusted and I know the path well enough to follow it. When we got to the shagbark hickory, Fate ran off towards the field on the edge of the property line and started barking.
On all the walks we’ve ever taken in the woods, Fate has never barked at anything.
When she sees a chipmunk, rabbit, or deer she’ll quietly chase them for a short distance then turn back.
I called Fate back and she came right away, but it was too dark for me to see what she was barking at.
I know we have a bobcat who travels our woods and bear have a path they follow on the edge of the property. We see and hear lots of evidence of coyotes. So we stood still a while, waiting, then as I started to walk, Fate again ran in the same direction barking.
This time I called her and we headed back to the farm. I know any of these animals would try to avoid a human, but I’m not sure how they’d react to a barking dog.
Back home I tossed some hay to the sheep and donkeys and looked at the chair next to the remaining bales of hay. Tired and worn on the outside, underneath, her frame is still sturdy and strong.
I feel like all the fears and difficulties of the new reality we live in now came crashing down on me last night.
I spent the day trying to pull myself back together. I don’t have a fraction of the heartache and worries that so many other people have during this time, yet still, it affects me.
My moods, which are always fluid from moment to moment, seem even more erratic. My anxiety needs a lot of exercise (I did an hour of bellydancing this morning) and Jon tells me my edge is sharper than usual (to put it nicely).
I think the reality that our lives will be permanently changed because of the coronavirus hit me. Usually, I’m hopeful about it, thinking of the possibilities of the good changes as well as the bad. But today the good eluded me.
Maybe this is a stage, like the stages of grieving, that I need to allow myself to feel. Usually when I drop so low, the next day I feel better, as if I’ve gone as deep as I can and knowing I’ve weathered the worst I move in the opposite direction.
I do believe that, beneath it all, like the old chair in the barn, I’m sturdy and strong and able to deal with whatever comes my way. This is a new one though, and it might take some more time and adjusting.