From My Covid Bed

I watched the world go by as if it were somewhere over the rainbow.

From my Covid bed, I watched each leaf flutter to the ground in slow motion. Wafting back and forth like little magic carpets riding invisible currents of October air, they drifted so purposefully you’d think they’d been hired as extras in an animated film. I expected to see Charlie Brown and the Great Pumpkin appear, but alas it was just me and the giant oak tree, reluctantly letting go.

We kept an eye on each other, the seven-trunked tree and I, for those first couple of days. As flat as a forever stamp, I lay pasted to the sheets, churning through tee shirts and cotton leggings as my fever went up and down and the night sweats stayed. One afternoon the oak threw up its limbs and danced with the dark clouds as a stiff breeze blew through, whistling and screeching so loudly that I swear I saw the wicked witch fly by on her broomstick. Like Dorothy, though, I woke up, fever broken, and realized it was only the crows.