18 March 2020

I realized yesterday that going to the supermarket makes me feel anxious.  Going indoors almost anywhere except home makes my heart beat faster, my breath go tight and shallow.  So I decide I won’t go to the supermarkets, only to the open air farmers’ markets on Tuesdays and Saturdays.  Maybe the pharmacy or a small grocery where they serve one customer at a time.  This morning I want a couple of things from the pharmacy; I can walk up to Piazza Maggiore.

A walk will do me good; I’m feeling very keyed-up and restless.  My husband is on his way home, fleeing Africa for Europe before our borders close.  He’s already embarked on the long, brutal journey: three flights and probably at least three trains.  He is accustomed to rough travel but this trip will be extraordinarily long and uncomfortable.

I climb the steep little hill from our place to an asphalt road that leads to narrow, cobblestoned via Vico, where we lived our first year here.  I ascend slowly (it’s a very steep hill!) breathing deeply of the sweet air; I begin to look around me.  This nightmare of contagion and fear is unfolding at perhaps the most beautiful season of the year–it’s spring!

Apricot trees blossomed 10 days ago; now the pears and wild cherries are covering themselves in white flowers.  The first leaves appear as a light haze of green hovering along branches, skies are high and blue, laundry flaps in the light breeze.   The sun warms my back and I loosen my scarf, open my coat.  Up in via Vico I see symbols of Italian determination and resilience—flags fly from balconies and windows and a rainbow banner proclaims Andrà Tutto Bene. And with my husband on his way home, that seems truer than ever.