Text & Image

How is the coronavirus pandemic affecting your life right now? Tell us about your experiences, feelings, and thoughts.

This is the scene of utter luxury. It’s early dawn. I have the house—and the world—to myself. I’ve opened both screen doors to let in the sounds of birds and breezes before the sounds of people intrude. There’s an occasional streetcar sound—much fewer lately, because who really wants to get on public transportation in the middle of a pandemic. Few cars—many of us are still working from home, or simply staying put, because that is what is called for these days, four months into quarantine, going on five. Our gardens this year flourish with cucumber leaves measuring 10” across and down. They climb the deck’s trellis more than seven feet high, protecting tomatoes, zucchini and, of course, cucumbers, from the hot sun which will soon burn away the clouds. Once the sun emerges, I’ll have to close those sliding doors, and rely on a/c to keep the summer heat from making this room unbearably hot. For now, the doors remain open, blowing gentle breezes across the chair. See that book on the side table? It’s the first paper book I’ve read in a long time, as opposed to opening the kindle app on my iPad. When it drew me into its story, I felt the familiar comfort of losing myself in pages, where I meet interesting characters, and forget the news, the void, the universe. We built this room just last year, replacing a dilapidated deck with structure designed to be totally opened to feel the fresh air, and yet closed to — while still being close to — the elements when necessary, which is most of the time in New England. We used to access this space only a few weeks a year. Enclosed, it has become my favorite hideout—day and night, and especially really early morning. We built it as a room for company. In lockdown, it is a room for reflection, for conversation, for writing and simple breathing. A space to think. A place of my own, before the day begins.