“To find yourself in a landscape, unable to walk—or walk far—is to feel exposed.”

The Morning News https://ift.tt/2XfRSiM

Poet Alex Finlay has been blogging elegantly ("On Not Walking," parts one and two) about his struggle to recover from the coronavirus.

Coronavirus has, once again, collapsed my cycle, scratching my lungs and tightening my heart. Six months in and there’s no easing, no medical explanation, and no official medication – only the remedies I find on chat rooms and pay for myself.

Walks have diminished to walklets. My legs ache as if I’d run a half-marathon.

I tried taking a walklet each day, to the lamppost over the road, then as far as the birch, 100 yards, and next day on to the pine, 103 yards. It hasn’t worked. The breath isn’t there.

Here's a related poem looking at the brighter side of things: W.S. Merwin's "To the New Year."

so this is the sound of you
here and now whether or not
anyone hears it this is
where we have come with our age
our knowledge such as it is
and our hopes such as they are
invisible before us
untouched and still possible

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