The sound of the drill
as screws are driven into boards.
the plink of a dropped screw hitting concrete
a cardinal sits in the tree complaining
as though we are infringing on his territory
the sun reflected on the living room wall
after tree limbs were trimmed

masks hanging off the shifter in the car
our new normal
as grocery shopping becomes
an adventure
discussed and prepared for
instead of a taken for granted
weekly chore

roped off pews and covered faces
choir loft empty, hallowed places
Facebook comments, dropped amens
lonely blessed praying faces
carry memories through halls
seasons passed and cold winds shiver

shaggy uncut hair
doctor visits online
no hugs
choosing what social activities
are worth the risk
of not knowing
the anxious feeling of being too close
to strangers who used to be friends

waiting for the spring to come
hoping for reprieve
to poke our heads up
like tiny shoots of grass
through cold leaves
who will we be?