Nature and Change

About four weeks ago, epidemiology was a word in a book, spelling & meaning unknown. The last few days, there’s a surge in the number of expert epidemiologists – those epidemiology universities must have been exceptionally busy churning them out.


Working from home the second day in a row, thanks to the virus. I sit at this table every morning at dawn, reading a few pages, writing out a quote that resonates with me. When I look out the window, I rarely see things because what’s on my mind takes over all cognitive abilities.  This morning, mulling over the quote from Mr. Aurelius, Marcus, as light filled & stirred the world, my eye went to the one yellow flower amid the green.  My wife, an avid gardener, planted a few seeds a while ago. And Nature, doing her thing, one day at a time, helped along by my wife watering the dry ground twice every day, seems to have exploded the seeds into this beast of a pumpkin vine, using the other plant (find out what it’s called!) as scaffolding as it takes over the world.

Pandemic, a poem by Lynn Ungur

I found this poem on LinkedIn, thanks to Susan Cain. Loved it so much I had to write it out.

Will this pandemic bring us closer together? Will we miss the simplest of things – a pat on the arm, a hug, a kiss, things that make us human – so much that we will over-compensate for it?
Or will this drive us further apart?

Thank you Lynn Ungur for this inspiring verse.

The full text of the poem’s (because I know I could barely read my own handwriting ?

What if you thought of it
as the Jews consider the Sabbath—
the most sacred of times?
Cease from travel.
Cease from buying and selling.
Give up, just for now,
on trying to make the world
different than it is.
Sing. Pray. Touch only those
to whom you commit your life.
Center down.

And when your body has become still,
reach out with your heart.
Know that we are connected
in ways that are terrifying and beautiful.
(You could hardly deny it now.)
Know that our lives
are in one another’s hands.
(Surely, that has come clear.)
Do not reach out your hands.
Reach out your heart.
Reach out your words.
Reach out all the tendrils
of compassion that move, invisibly,
where we cannot touch.

Promise this world your love–
for better or for worse,
in sickness and in health,
so long as we all shall live.

~Lynn Ungar