Earlier this week, a crazy storm came out of nowhere. The sky turned a bruised purple-black and the wind went from breezy to violent, whipping the trees and blowing huge gusts of rain sideways.

Just as the thunder peaked, the lights dipped once, twice, and then all was dark.

Dark and quiet. No refrigerator humming, no air whooshing through the vents, no soft radio in the background, no clicking of my fingers on a keyboard.

As the storm moved on, I could hear each drip of the water off the roof, and the return of the bird calls. An alarming scratchy sound turned out to be me, my jeans catching on the edge of the bench.

Dear ones, even in these strange quiet homebound weeks, even for the luckiest among us, there has been a loud undercurrent buzzing. Did I answer that email how are my parents will the wifi hold up for my meeting can I avoid the grocery store where is my mask how do I clean this thing anyway is my throat sore or do I just need some water how can they still be out of paper towels is it really snowing in May should I post it on insta or just curl up into a ball until it all goes away?

In the stillness, powerless, in between the storm and the recovery, the buzzing finally stopped.

In the stillness, I lit a candle.

Took a deep breath.

Exhaled.