Holding Pattern

Sarah Wiseman | May 06, 2020

The robin sits on a stone in the mud-slick yard waiting for the nest’s meal. Everyday she

sticks her neck out, focused, ready to yank the slimy, limbless creatures from their beds

of earth. She waits while the tulips hold their shape. Flat green leaves, tubular shoots,

pregnant tops. No closer to blooming than they were last week. I examine their folds,

my face up close. Look for hints of red, a readiness. The weather keeps time with its

song. April showers. One more cold morning, mediocre day.

I worm my way out of an embrace of blankets and pillows. Their curves, my companions

for the duration of the isolation. On my mid-day run a young coyote strides steadfast

through low unadorned branches. Muscular legs moving it’s wolf-head forward. It

disrupts my momentum. I stand there, long after it has disappeared. They say wildlife is

taking over human spaces while the rest of us are learning hibernation skills. Stuffing

nuts in our cheeks, growing our hair. We poke our heads out of our holes only when

hungry, hoping to see someone else’s shadow.

Between video chats and facebook memes, news updates and prime-ministerial

addresses, I watch another lonely downpour, wonder when this is ever going to end.

Donning a balaclava mask for groceries in town, I pass an “Email Our Residents” sign at

the seniors’ home and slow down for a rat, crossing at a crosswalk. A bone-chilling wind

whips through the parking lot but it’s a thrill to see a friend in the flesh so I stop to talk.

She keeps her distance, laughs and says, “Is it spring yet?”