Puddles, glistening leaves,
are telltale signs of last night’s rain in East Hampton.
It was a much-needed refreshment for apple trees,
oaks, maples, not to mention chipmunks, bunnies.
For me, it cleansed the mind, brought spider webs into focus.
Acorns, pine cones, wisteria pods appeared everywhere.
Trees, bushes stood taller, greened deeper.
Ferns and perillas spread, lush, thick.
Even moss crept into streets.
Time for fertility, playfulness, fancy.
For turtles to cross the road seeking fortunes.
For deer to munch untended crops.
For squirrels to filch baby pears.
For woodpeckers to tap, sparrows to chirp.
For butterflies to flit.
For cicadas to awaken as temperatures rise.
How is it possible that somewhere lurking
among aromas of pines, myrtles, hydrangeas,
is a variant virus, also in flower,
ready to wrest away this splendor from unsuspecting hosts?
From the unvaccinated?
The unmasked?
What prevents disaster?
Worry?
Laws?
Compliance?
Who knows?
But when a child sequestered in East Hampton
says she can return home to Manhattan
only when the virus goes away,
my heart aches for her, even on a glorious day.
Lynn Benjamin
July 30, 2021