I reach my hand up to the sky
and touch a silence
soft as a silken spider’s web.
The only sound, in blossom-laden trees,
are songbirds,
their twitter like a whisper in my ear
predicting, perhaps, this moment
when the world came to a halt
where grounded planes liberated the skies.
Atop a garden wall a child smiles
“one, two, three – whee!”
and flies into the safety of his mother’s arms.
Along the pavement a jogger’s sneakers
beat a timpani drum roll,
accompanied by an orchestra of bees.
Past closed doors of shops and cafés
sadness, like a cello’s lament,
plucks at my heart strings.
The melody of lockdown
stills on the air, numb with disbelief.
The conductor just stepped off the podium.