Charlie doesn’t understand why I am heading out the door alone and getting in the car, instead of walking to the river. Freshly home, I need to stock the refrigerator and stock the shelves for hunkering down. I drive to BJ’s shortly after it opens and move quickly. Then, once home, both my daughters are here and we head out with both dogs. But our walk is interrupted. We have to go home for a bit. Finally, the three of us, and Charlie, but not Suzi, take our long, long walk in the woods, and I am so happy to be with the girls in our favorite place, catching up, laughing. They are excited to show me the mother goose nesting in the wetlands of our property. It’s not a great picture, but I am grateful to have a special shot of a wetlands bird in my northern habitat of the Charles. Nearby, and out of view, the father goose is sentinel. We do not get close, and Charlie ignores them. Well, deep in the woods on a favorite Trustees of Reservations trail we spot the skunk cabbage: early sign of spring. I am relieved to be home. My son who is staying nearby texts while I’m in the woods with the girls, suggesting a walk later. We will be spending lots of time social distancing in our woods, I think. A dear friends calls while we're in the woods: she wanted to pull into my driveway and wave a hello. How heartwarming! The house is in disarray; I have not really unpacked. One true things goes on as planned: Monday night poets, thank goodness. We meet online. I have a poem early draft that I worked on two weeks ago, fortunately, as I have had no time to write for a few days in all this upheaval. So, the poem is appreciated and admired; and yet, there are some considerable issues. I will see what I can do to solve them. I am quite tired. I am. In this surreal new lifestyle, tonight, three of us in this house were on a Zoom videoconference at the same time. My husband, who worked from home all day, offered to lead an AA meeting on Zoom this evening. There are so many ways to help each other right now.