I used to hate the rain. The dark skies got me down and I missed the glistening, snow-covered streets of the Eastern Provinces during the winter. The dampness made my bones weigh heavy. But then, I acclimatized to this weather system after several years. Now I love the sound of the pebbled drops pounding on my roof, the splash of puddles against moving tires and concrete, and the fresh smell of the moist air. It soothes and consoles, and reminds me I have a cozy place for shelter as lamps glow softly in the shadows. I feel safe and warm, and enjoy the portrait of clear water reflecting the brilliant green of my surroundings. It makes everything grow, including my spirits.

The moon rises sharp and jagged, the lower left side of its face torn by the violet-tinged sky. I notice all the lights in the apartment buildings surrounding me are on, versus the days of old when they were speckled with the blackness of no one home. I hear a lone metallic sound, followed by more melodic dins of pans, spoons, bowls, and chimes, combining into various rhythms. Hoots and hollers, whistles, boat horns from afar, all join together to make one large cheer to those who are on the front lines. We look around as we make noise, see one another, and wave. I love this camaraderie. Tomorrow night I will sing, I don’t care if I’m off-key, we will stand together on our balconies as one voice, united yet distanced. No politics, no arguing over who is to blame and what must be done. What must be done is to support one another. And stay home. Brighten the night with your lights and sound. And listen to this song by my friend Laura Koch ….

I hear scurrying on the balcony and a loud thump. Feathers puff into the air as claws scrape the floor and a tail points upwards like a spike. More shuffling and the cat proudly walks in the apartment with a bird in his mouth. I yell out, “Memphis, don’t bring that inside!” and he drops it on the mottled area rug. The bird twitches slightly as Memphis tries to bat it. I get some tongs and gently pick it up; it moves again, breathing ever so subtlety. I place it on the bed of soil in the planter box that rests on the balcony’s edge. The bird lays still, eyes closed, wings tucked tightly against its body. No more movement. It’s gone. Aiden says he is sad that the bird died. So am I. I mourn the loss of this little creature as much as I would for anyone else. It’s easy to do so in such a time that is as fragile as our feathered friends. The virus is much like the cat, ready to pounce when we’re not looking. Stay safe out there. You are not immune. Whether it be the disease itself that gets you or loss of income and stability, the effects will somehow clutch you.

It’s an early morning. The sun gracefully lays grey shadows on my living room floor and creates softened circles and squares of light as it shines through the evergreens outside my window. I hear the melodic honking of geese in the distance and am reminded of the beauty of the world around me. All I can do in these times of despair is remember the earth, the birds, the trees and the buzz of life that is not human. Life carries on each day; let’s make this moment our time to glow. Rather than cast doubts, reach out not with hands but kind words and gestures. These times can be in our control if we choose to not let the chaos rule our minds. Be present, enjoy the beings that are alive and vibrant around us. One breath, one blink at a time. Be grateful for the food you do have, savour each bite as if it were your last, and treasure each memory created as we turn inwards. These are fragile days; let’s reflect the strength we seek from our leaders onto one another and stand together in our hearts and minds. #itsthelittlethings

There is a wall of stringed lights hanging over an entire balcony in an apartment tower across the way, behind a gathering of cedar trees nestled around my home. They are bright, flashy, and when I sit on my balcony, I find myself always staring at them, drawn to their white glow and movement. They bother me sometimes, and I think to myself, “Who would want a barrage of lights glaring back at them all the time?” But late at night, when I’m in the bedroom, the view from the window is pitch black, the trees’ silhouettes lumped into one obscure mass. And I can see inklings of those lights through the feathered branches, like clustered fireflies dancing on a summer night. Seeing lights like that through the darkness gives me hope, and for that, I am grateful. #itsthelittlethings