Afterglow

Under the rhododendrons

 "Afterglow, magic show
Shine across the earth tonight
Shimmering over the ocean"
- "Afterglow" by Ásgeir

Carrying an armful of firewood, I pressed my boot into the soggy white snow in my backyard. Fat drops of water dripped from the leaves of the rhododendrons. The air was still, almost eerily so, as if waiting for something. My breath was laden with moisture. I could hear creaking branches and the footsteps of forest creatures around me, but there was not a soul in sight. At that moment, if an albino elk had emerged from the trees and invited me to follow him on an adventure, I would not have been surprised in the least. 

Insert magic elk

The past few weeks have seen the afterglow of winter in Massachusetts, as the world slowly melts and warms. The pandemic is actually the first time in a long time that I've felt and observed the change of seasons at home. Usually, my sense of seasonality is disrupted by trips to different climate zones, which leave my epithelial nerves utterly confused. It feels very different to actually experience the transitions as they come.

As you know, my scientific activities of late have been less blog-worthy than normal, as I spend my time applying for funding, writing and revising papers, and giving presentations. I'm trying to embrace this time and use it as best I can. I'm confident that the metaphorical winter of the pandemic will soon give way to spring.