Strange Days

By George Jacobi

Spring will come again, they tell me. Right now, though, it’s shockingly cold. A once promising summer vanished in a bleak November, buffeting me with gusts of biting wind. The hope that sustained me for that long warm season faded fast. Homeless and harried in my own land, I’ve lost my stability and my song. Melancholy is my regular escort.

The atmosphere gets colder every day and shows signs of collapsing into crisis and chaos. Some of my neighbors and friends have gone, left for some strange territory I cannot imagine. Challenges are sure to come, both social and environmental. Storms of unknown ferocity will rage; I dread the forms they may take.  

Yet – each morning before my eyes, a vision of growth appears, a verdant oasis. It surely contains nourishment, some seeds, some berries. There must be beetles hiding under leaves; moths camouflaged on stems. I fly to it. Over and over, I am stunned by a hard invisible barrier. Sometimes as I attempt to cross the obstacle, I am attacked! Seen darkly through the obstruction, the defender of this garden appears to be myself. Truth is elusive; is this whole heartbreaking challenge a creation of my own mind? Do I squint at an Orwellian realm, or worse, that of Kafka? This is now truly a troubling, danger-filled world.

I tap at the window. Again – and again. It soothes me to see the unapproachable garden, as I fear I’ll forget comfort and community. No: I am still surrounded by life in many forms, suspended, awaiting. I will not despair. I tell myself to banish weakness and insecurity, leave fantasy behind.

Within me an intuitive melody plays, a dance of warmth and iciness and then warmth again. And outside, humming always below the surface, is a harmony, a chord pattern played by the one who left me here. I will build earth a nest in my heart, nurture it as it nurtures me. I’ll fly on with wings of hope. I have a fierce desire to survive and revive, driven by affection and compassion for all who struggle through these strange days with me.

I have faith, life and heart. Whatever may come, I have the strength to ride out the coming storms; the spirit will see me through. Joy to the world, I’ll sing in exultation. Hallelujah! I know spring will be born again. It always is.