This morning, I notice the trees. There’s a beautiful corkscrew willow, a bright spring green, and behind it a horde of soon-to-be Christmas trees growing care-free in a small field. The birds flit from treetop to treetop, their songs innocent and clear. It’s refreshing to think this part of existence know nothing about the pandemic turning everyone else’s life upside down. I try to emulate them and make peace with whichever demons choose to visit me this morning, but it doesn’t help my toes from slowly freezing and I spend the last five minutes desperately waiting for the sign that the hour is over and I can go back into the warmth.