Paying Attention
Jan 5, 2022
It’s warmer outside than it should be. On the day after Christmas, I’m sitting in shorts and a t-shirt, Chachos pulled out from the back of the closet. I’m listening to birds—not the full-throated symphony I hear in the spring, but still: the sound of any bird this deep into winter feels out of place. The squirrels are in full-on mode, instead of the normal winter hibernation, digging in the mottled carpet of fallen oak leaves, chasing and being chased up and down the gray tree trunks and across their leafless mesh of canopy.
It feels out of sorts. I feel out of sorts. Everything’s felt out of sorts for a while now, hasn’t it? I won’t rehearse the reasons; we know their name, and it is Legion. The unease comes from not knowing what to do. Even the clothes I’m supposed to wear this time of year don’t work.