Category: Lockdown Diaries

With Covid and other life events taking their toll Rory Hunter, an Australian living in Hong Kong, chose a unique way to socially isolate and heal: a solo boat journey home. Along the way he recorded his experiences in a blog called Seeking Solitude, from which this entry is taken. 

I’ve been able to have a restful day getting in a couple of naps to rebuild my strength from the previous few days. The islands of Yap, Palau and various atolls are all within sailing distance so pose somewhat of a navigational challenge. These islands mark the halfway point in this open ocean stage of the Pacific, so it’s a great milestone and one I’m very happy to achieve after the recent challenges. There’s a very long way to go though, and I’m still not at the halfway for the entire journey, which gives me a reality check and forces me to focus on the tasks ahead.

Its 2pm and off in the distance I see land for the first time in fourteen days. It’s Ulithi atoll and I’ve sailed further south than the rhumb-line just so I can take a look. I smile from ear-to-ear upon its sight and shout in joy. I’m surprised at how happy it makes me, the sight of land. I’ve dreamed of exploring atolls like this, having the place entirely to oneself and spending days under water on the untouched reefs—swimming, diving, fishing and surfing—enjoying the safety of the waters and the beautiful colours and marine life. I wonder if I should stop, just for a night?

I think I see another boat in the distance and wonder if the occupants would like some company over dinner? I’d certainly love some human contact. Maybe they even have cold beer! I bet they’d have some good stories to share and I’d love the conversation and interaction. I fanaticise about seeing some people, talking and laughing together for about an hour, but as we get closer I see that it’s a wreck and my dreams need to be put on hold. There’ll be plenty of time for that type of sailing in the future. For now, I need to focus on the task at hand, getting to Pioneer Channel and out of the northern latitudes.

Life is always greatest at the margins. I see lots of birds and sea life with fish jumping all around. I throw out my line and get a strike almost straight away. I didn’t hook it properly though, so it’s gone after a few minutes. I don’t have to wait long before the next strike. It’s a decent sized Dorado and after 20 minutes I get him close enough to the boat that I can see the bright yellows and greens of its skin. Just at the last moment the hook pops out and I see him swim away gracefully. I have plenty of food, so I thank him for the fight and try again. I get one more strike before nightfall but can’t seem to hook this one either, so I cook up various root vegetables and make a delicious hash while dreaming about the one (or three) that got away.

Moonrise is a blood orange tonight, as it slowly appears over the horizon, framed by dark clouds with even a palm tree silhouetted in the foreground, and it more than makes up for missing it the night before. 

I think about all the change that has taken place in the world these past few months, much of which will impact an entire generation. Our great depression, the hundreds of millions of people who have lost jobs, the millions of businesses that have shutdown, many never to reopen. I count myself amongst the lucky ones. I wonder what’s happening back in the ‘world’. At least for a minute, then remind myself that ignorance is bliss and to enjoy this unique moment of solitary detachment.

In many ways today was just what I needed. I got some much-needed rest and a solid (and surprising) morale boost from seeing land for the first time in two weeks. I ended the day happy and in good spirits. Dumb luck wins again.

Luke Hunt, on the road to recover, questions those who query the rights of the elderly during these Covid times—in this, the second part—of his personal medical account.

Part ll.

“Covid, senicide and shades of Hitler in the ranks of the self-entitled.”

Near death experiences are not that uncommon but doubts over the veracity of such stories are understandable, particularly in a world riddled with self-righteous petty indignations and expressed all too loudly as the new coronavirus took hold. 

But as I awoke there was a second doctor who was watching over me and with a reassuring smile he reminded me to thank Dr Kraipope for saving “you, you nearly succumbed twice”.

Asked whether I had contracted Covid-19 – at that point the diagnosis was incomplete – he laughed, saying: “Nooooo, you’re four, five, six times worse than that”. Hardly encouraging.

The following days, weeks and months were difficult. More blood tests, more needles. I actually ran out of veins. They were all broken. My weight dropped from near 90 kilograms to under 70.

I was locked down in hospital and then home for about two months amid a crazy mix of symptoms that were similar to Covid-19; respiratory issues, blood clots, pneumonia.

My only access to the outside word was a television fixed on CNN and the Internet where the plight of the human race was unfolding as the new coronavirus took hold and leaders like the US president Donald Trump crashed to an unprecedented level of incompetence.

Covid-19 was the common cause, lockdowns were enforced and the world as we knew it flipped from great freedoms to house detention and it continues to bring out the best, and the worst in too many people.

But what stunned me, were the horrible attitudes expressed about old people as if some kind of Darwinian experiment was being played out through the new corona virus. I never realized so many people simply didn’t care about their plight.

Scorned and blamed for quarantines, right wing twits were prepared to put business before health as one Texas governor suggested grandparents should be willing to die for the sake of the economy.

In the online world – where every expert, every idiot and everyone in between can express themselves badly – such attitudes are all too easily amped-up.

In Australia and the Covid hotspot of Melbourne, one on-liner points out that total Covid deaths announced for Victoria today were one female in her 80s, three females in their 90s and one female in her 100s, and this does not justify lockdowns.

That prompts responses like: “Mate, just because they were old, doesn’t mean their lives are worthless.” and then: “Why not ban death hazards altogether. No cars. No skateboarding, cycling, hijinks or hipsters. Then we can all die of nothing.”

The attitude is ‘people should ignore the science, do as they please and if the elderly die off a bit earlier than they otherwise might have then that’s an acceptable price to pay so that the rest of us can carry on as usual’. 

There’s a mangled argument in there. A sizable minorityare saying the elderly are too prone, too inconvenient, too expensive, and too old to treat. Unworthy of care, besides they’re going to die soon, anyway. Expendable.

But why stop there? Why not just abandon all help and hope for the elderly in all circumstances, relieve society of their burden and everyone else can go to the football or do as they please.

That would remove awkward questions like who decides who dies and when.It’s actually called senicide, a disturbing, Hitleresque word which means the killing of elderly or their abandonment to death, which makes the issues that exploded out of lockdowns with the stir-crazy protestors of the Black Lives Movement look rather petty.

Humans don’t do Darwin, animals do. Humans – perhaps not all – have ethics and culture. That’s how we sort out the bullies and how people look after society as a whole. I never did get to the other side so I can’t vouch for it but at 57 I went close.

I’ll be forever grateful for the doctors, nurses and the caring people who helped me, whether I last another 10, 20 or 30 years. They were professional, ethical and served according to the needs of the patient. It’s the type of care all people should be entitled to, including the old.

There could be exemptions. Those advocating senicide come to mind.

ENDS PART TWO

A near-death experience raises a question for Luke Hunt—international correspondent and author—’should I stay or should I go?’

“… my life review – a euphemism for near death experience or NDE – really didn’t do it for me.”

As the new coronavirus took hold about 100 people were doing what they do best, sorting a barbecue, the last to be held in the garden of House Nine on Street 830 in Phnom Penh, my home for the last eight years.

Old friends and the odd luminary – famed correspondent Jim Pringle among them – indulged in a hedonistic mix of food, music and intoxicants of choice on a lazy Sunday afternoon.

It was on the eve of lockdowns. Government quarantines, social distancing, face masks and must have sanitizers were still over the horizon. Hugs, kissing and the odd dance were still allowed.

Two weeks later I collapsed with severe abdominal pain, fever and volcanic chills.

My doctor, Gavin Scott, listened to my gut with his stethoscope and said: “I can’t hear anything at all. Nothing.” Gratefully, I couldn’t feel anything either but the look on his face said too much.

My organs were shutting down as I was rushed into ER at Royal Phnom Penh Hospital then five hours later into an ICU with suspected salmonella or typhoid as the Covid-19 pandemic took hold, up-ending and closing-out life as we knew it.

Dr Kraipope Jurapaiboon got it. As my internal organs were nearing retirement he did the charts. A stomach inflammation reading of one to three is considered normal, five is high.

I was clocking around 265.

The ICU resembled a NASA control room. Ten electrodes connected me to the EKG. Three intravenous needles delivered a milk substance and antibiotics. There was a catheter, assisted breathing and four or five staff on hand 24/7 as I drifted in and out of consciousness.

Needles and blood tests followed more needles, more blood tests and CT Scans.

Kraipope diagnosed salmonella leading to complications, which included pneumonia with pulmonary embolisms in both lungs, peritonitis, thrombosis on the liver, kidney stones and diverticulitis resulting in a perforated colon.

That infected my stomach and sent me into sceptic shock, twice.

Blood was turning into sludge and clots, of which I was blissfully unaware. The morphine – a must have at the next barbecue – was terrific.

But as the bells and whistles sounded from my ICU, I instinctively knew exactly what was happening and I was ready to go. I also had the best view. I could see Kraipope, another doctor and a team of nurses dart to my bedside. I was impressed.

I was looking at them from just above, then drifted towards the window as my life review, also known as a near death experience or NDE, began to rewind through a montage of black and white photos.

It was entertaining, I liked my life but like too many of the photographs I’d taken over the previous decades my NDE was in large parts dreadfully out of focus. There was a light that ran in a curve out through the window and up, and I was overwhelmed by a comfortable urge to follow. Just go.

I hesitated for a nano-second. My life review looked a bit clumsy. It lacked clarity. It was a bit like my old school report cards: “Could do better”.

Then I thought of friends and family. Mum had passed barely 12 months earlier leaving a tribe of grandchildren behind and I didn’t need to add to their anguish by buggering off so soon afterwards.

Last and least, I didn’t want that concrete skeleton – the Booyoung construction site next door – to be my last picture of a planet blighted by environmental destruction.

I shot upright. Literally; awake, throughly alive and totally aware.

ENDS PART ONE

Matt Davie offers some post-lockdown reflections from a favoured bar, in Lyttelton, New Zealand

Before New Zealand went into nationwide lockdown. Without trivialising the terrible and widespread effects of Covid19 – the occasion was, for myself and few others, a pre-pandemic drink. Prime Minister Jacinda (known affectionately by her first name by all) had just announced that there was evidence of community based transmission of Covid19 in NZ. We were about to move to elimination level 4 and for the following 6 weeks all but essential workers would remain at home in their own ‘bubble’.

As myself and 5 others sat on the balcony of the Wunderbar, on that Thursday afternoon in March, we contemplated, among other things that we may not see each other for a while. Worst case scenario, a number of us may catch the the Covid 19 virus – at that stage a distinct possibility given how our curve in New Zealand was following a similar trajectory to countries like Spain and Italy. Then there was the issue of job security – I myself being fortunate (depending on your point of view) to be classed as an essential transport worker. Another companion was lucky to have just received a commission for a couple of paintings. And another supplied most of her sunglasses online anyhow. Even though we knew that hugging, as part of the new social distancing rules, was no longer allowed we embraced following a few anxious drinks and went our separate ways.

The Wunderbar is situated in the Canterbury port of Lyttelton and is well known for its retro chic’ness, bohemian style, lounge décor, ambience and clientele. I’ve been to it many times over the last 30 years – to music gigs, birthday parties, the millennium new years eve and post earthquake shows in the 2010s. These days I travel to the Wunderbar by ferry – it’s a 5 minute trip across the water, from my base in Diamond Harbour a small village opposite. From the balcony of my home I can see the twinkling lights of Lyttelton and on a clear night might spy the Wunderbar’s neon. For a couple of months the lights went out. And during the day there are no sail boats, kayaks, wakas or jetskis on the harbour – just the eerily, wind-less conditions of a dry April and May. 

Now a mere 8 weeks later, I am back at the Wunderbar on a Saturday night – a first tentative outing since the lockdown restrictions have been eased. There’s just a small scattering of early evening drinkers, all quite subdued – I sense still shell shocked from what has occurred in the last few months. Myself and companion start chatting to a couple opposite, joking at been able to share a missing condiment. The Irish bar next door, usually full with a rowdy after work revellers is relatively sedate. We move on to a local Thai restaurant for our first dining out experience out for ages.

The talking to strangers, and/or neighbours is, I suppose, one of the positives to come out of the lockdown. Many people have commented about how much they have, enjoyed (some would say loved) the 6 weeks off from work. Other workers, such as those in government departments have been allowed to do there jobs from home. People have exercised a lot, walked and biked a lot. We talk to people, friends new and old, from opposite sides of the road. 

 At 10.30 on a Saturday night out as myself and companion board the ferry. As the ferry turns out of Lyttelton’s inner harbour I can see the smoky haze wafting above from 100s of log burners. As we continue to move further away we can also see the smog haze of Christchurch rise from behind the Port Hills. For 8 weeks, as traffic disappeared from our roads during lockdown, this haze vanished. But now the cars, traffic and people have returned.    

Matt Davie
June 2020

Every year we went
Kagoshima, Kumamoto
Or some other place
Mum, dad, sister and brother
Together for once, a family in one space.

But in these Covid times the tradition was broken
And there were no blossoms in March
No dappled pink in the chilled twilight
Or sakura picnics, warm saki and bbq
Beneath a pink pedal rain

Instead, in the year of the virus,
Delight and wonder gave way to fear and Nippon staidness
Everyone seeking to go with the flow
By not going anywhere
(Except to work – we are, after all, still Japanese)
Stuck in our rooms
Prisoners inside our own beige walls.

But it’s over now or so the fireworks say
But so are the blossoms
Resigned to memory after the hard days of spring
So I must pray that my parents will be here next year
To enjoy the opened buds minus masks and Covid cares

And once more we will mark our spot
And celebrate life, family and re-birth
A clan united under the branches
And then I will know
That this time has truly past.

Hiromi Morimoto
Yatsushiro
Japan

May 2020

How are we ‘getting it on’ now that we cannot ‘get it on’? From ‘zoom sex’ to neighbourhood affairs, the rise of ‘lockdown erotica’.

Pearse Anderson, The Guardian UK.

When the first coronavirus-related erotica appeared on Literotica, one of the largest erotic fiction websites, in mid-March, the moderators were not sure if it was fit to print. Within a week, they were receiving a handful of sex stories relating to the virus every single day. As billions around the world went into lockdown, some people had seemingly found a new inspiration in isolation; quarantine-related porn started to appear online, and erotica writers began to self-publish lockdown romances on Amazon. “Quarantine has given me time to get back to writing,” Silkstockinglover, one popular writer on Literotica, tells me. “I wrote a dozen stories so far.”

Given the influx of coronavirus-related erotica, the moderators decided to hold a contest. Love the One(s) You’re With saw more than 100 authors write erotic stories set during the pandemic, with thousands of readers voting on the best and the majority of the winnings going to charities. Each author faced a troubling challenge: how on earth can you make a global pandemic, ineffective national health plans, and circumstances that have led to the deaths of hundreds of thousands of people, romantic or sexy?

 “I don’t think there’s anything explicitly sexy about the pandemic itself, but any extreme situation is going to bring about fascinating experiences to explore in terms of sexuality,” says Ian Snow, one author who entered the contest. “Add in isolation, boredom, and plain physical need to the mix, and you’ve got a recipe for some pretty hot stories.”

Overall, the contest’s quarantinica can be divided into three sub-genres. The first is “unexpected quarantine partners”, in which roommates, friends, and, yes, step-siblings hook up after weeks of sexual tension in their enclosed locations, with the characters often completing during or after an event that has been cancelled due to the coronavirus, such as prom or birthday parties.

The second is “isolated voyeurism” in which horny individuals bond by watching each other through windows – or Windows. (Zoom features in many stories.)

The third and final is best summed up as “let’s break lockdown for a quick lay”, in which people have a passionate moment while (sometimes) trying to follow WHO guidelines, either by passing around hand sanitiser, wiping down surfaces, or opting for a sexual position with less face-to-face interaction.

“The isolation of quarantine is a great literary device because it can be … an outside aid thrusting fated lovers together or an obstacle to be overcome that has kept them apart,” says author Kethandra. Others ignore all that: “If I tried to frame everything to WHO guidelines or local restrictions, I’d lose the erotic part of the erotic story,” says author Defluer.

With at least 40% of the world having experienced lockdown, when the protagonist of Quarantined After Twenty Six Years? says, “I just hung up from my 475th Zoom conference”, we sigh in exhaustion with him.

Curiously, government decision-making seems to have influenced the tone of the stories; the contest’s Australian erotica feels fairly utopian when compared with the US stories, with people sexily quarantining in hotel rooms paid for by the government or in isolated estates with swimming pools – perhaps a cultural side effect of Australia’s more successful response.

The competition’s winners may be surprising to some. Both the first place story, Late Night Conversations by JoeDreamer, and runner-up Unseen Love by Bebop3 and MsCherylTerra, were slow-burn romances between neighbours, in which the couples’ relationships build gradually over thousands of words as they navigate home repairs and sick family members. Despite the vaccine-related dirty talk, lockdown orgies, and Zoom sex present in the genre, sometimes the things people crave most are the simplest: having conversations and befriending neighbours.

“It feels like a dystopia movie . . . “
In Panama the virus rages on. An excerpt from a very personal account.

I wake at 4:30 AM to drink water and walk to the window. It’s dark outside and the faint street lamps illuminate the neighborhood. The only sounds are those of small birds in the trees that shelter them. I take a deep breath and go back to bed before another day of lockdown begins.

It is hard to imagine that three months have passed and how much all our lives have changed. Back in mid-February with my partner and our widowed mothers, we boarded a Caribbean cruise for a week of enjoyment. Later, on our own, we embarked on a 1000-kilometer road trip around the countryside of our tropical country, Panama. 

There was news of a strange epidemic, far away in China, where thousands were falling to a mysterious illness. But no one was worried here, after all we had already experienced epidemics before—dengue, zika—and made it through okay.

And then things started to escalate. There was the unexplainable sudden death of a school director in the capital city; his co-workers following him to hospital, some in grave condition. The government tried to downplay it. The school board muttered but there was no way to deny it, COVID was among us! Quickly the number of infected people started to climb in Panama city. 

Still travelling we decided to prolong our stay in the countryside, our evening’s backstopped by a nightly press conference tallying positive cases, hospitalized people, the mounting death toll.

In the days in between we took a daylong road trip across plains and mountains to a remote surfer’s beach. While there the government announced plans for stricter measures, but they would still leave the airports open so more infected people could arrive from the USA, Spain, and Italy.

We were supposed to spend a few days in a beach resort. Now a virus borne from across the Pacific severed our long-awaited holidays. A curfew was in force and we could no longer walk the streets. In our capital the situation as getting progressively worse; and while there were a few reported cases in the countryside, there were none recorded in the province where we were staying. 

The holidays were over. Being independent I had no safe way to return to our home in the city. Yes, sometimes government takes half-baked measures without thinking; and yet it took weeks before they decided to close the airport. We spent a whole month in the countryside, afraid to come to the city. 

Now I find myself here, in our cozy apartment but unable to go outside and enjoy the sun. All social and economic activities have come to a halt. As an independent I am only allowed to be out and about for 2 hours, twice a week, within a specific time slot. While a ritual follows the rare excursion to the outside world where the ‘virus’ resides. Leaving shoes outside and spraying them with chloride, washing your hands feverishly before touching anything and then stripping away your clothes before taking a shower. 

Life in Panama has taken on the feel of a dystopia movie; a time and place where simple acts—coughing, touching, laughing—can have grave consequences.

Our lives will be different from now on. Nothing will be the same again. 

Ms. J, from Hong Kong, reflects on how the ‘virus’ has changed her city home, sometimes for the better.

Never would I have thought that at the start of 2020, a “World War Z” feeling would spread across the world! Without blood, without running for your life, without Brad Pitt, but you know it is all around you! The anxiety, the panic, the restrictions, constant reminders of self-protection and the dramatic death rate around the world. Getting on the train you could suddenly be in life threatening danger! The fear of death was never so close!

People in HK are considered lucky. We were one of the first infected cities, in early 2020, but never suffered a lockdown. Local government established various measures to fight against the virus but the people in HK are, still today, free to go around.

Everyone is conscious of wearing mask and sanitising hands whenever they can. There was a wave of panic buying of masks, sanitiser, toilet rolls, tissue paper, any type of noodles and rice, bread, canned food. Empty shelves in supermarkets and the lack of daily masks was the talk of town for many weeks. But then it stablised pretty quickly.

With our SARS experience in 2003, HK people knew when to wear a mask in public. It is perceived to be a responsible and life-saving act for yourself and for others. It is impressive that every Hong Konger is so aligned with this belief that you will not see anyone without a mask in public, even with the currently hot weather and 35 degree temperatures. 

But we do question, will this become our way of life?!

Nevertheless, westerners living in HK did not wear masks in the early stages of the pandemic. We cannot be sure whether they thought we were over-reacting or that the virus only targeted Asians. At that point, there were minimal cases in the western world. But since the outbreak started in Europe and North America, the whole cycle of panic buying, empty shelves in shops and the mask wearing debate has happened in these places too, and so the westerners started to understand why we do what we do, and began wearing masks.

Cultural differences disappeared and we all knew that we were in this together.

The combined effort of government measures and people’s behavior seems to have paid off. The number of confirmed cases and deaths in HK has remained low.

Meanwhile, with the pandemic induced closure of factory operations in China, the ever-polluted air quality in HK has improved. Even the ocean is clearer. People are more alert about health and diet, bonding more with their loved ones, there is more home cooking fun, more efforts to see nature – everyone in HK seems to be at ease with the pandemic as long as we all behave! Amazing to see such a pleasant outcome from such a difficult situation. Would this ever have happened if there were no pandemic?

I am from HK, living in HK with my British husband and we run a little hat shop selling vintage men’s hats.

Dr. Howl – A GREAT hat shop it is too!

Siem Reap’s Peter Olszewski offers a satirical take on the latest Covid news.

Commenting on the most recent development  in our anthropocene epoch,  John said that he read somewhere that Bill Gates was behind the Covid virus, because he was  developing a vaccine so he could dominate the globe financially – although he already does dominate the globe financially John added –  noting that he read  the bit about Gates and the vaccine somewhere and then adding that he doesn’t believe anything he reads anywhere anymore whereas Michael said that he read  that high  temperatures can keep the virus at bay although that information is being stifled by global leaders living in cold temperatures and/or Donald Trump,  or at least that’s what he read somewhere although Michael adds that he doesn’t believe anything he reads anywhere anymore, while Caroline, well Caroline is convinced Trump has a lot to answer for and that the virus  is a dire warning about the catastrophic dangers of environmental pollution caused by radiofrequency radiation and electromagnetic fields as evidenced  by  5G which is now being actively rolled out in many cities around the world  and which hijacks  your sweat duct antennae via  pulsed waves far more damaging than continuous wave radiation  and in fact  5G is a weapons system disguised as a consumer convenience, or so she read, and Michelle butted in saying she read that someone from WHO – almost certainly a woman – said that Jacinda Ardern should be running America, even though she – Jacinda Ardern – told CNN’s Christiane Amanpour that she didn’t understand America and meanwhile Donald Trump,  furious that Ardern has trumped him by having far better virus numbers, said that he made Ardern up and if she’s not careful he’ll turn her into a sock puppet,  with Bob then bobbing up saying how it’s all just a chance to reset humanity, despite the proliferation of photo-shopped pics of swans and dolphins on the Thames or the Ganges,  and despite statements that are false at a quantum or supposed  non dual level and despite the kick-in of the entropic chaos factor when suddenly Sandrine interrupted screaming WTF would everybody just shut up about the  stupid covid virus thingy or whatever it’s called and get on with it and leave her alone because she’s sick of hearing about it and she certainly no longer reads about  it because she doesn’t believe anything she reads anywhere anymore.

You know what they say. You wouldn’t read about it.

‘Hope is a thing with feathers’. Dr. Howl shares parallel worlds in his latest lockdown piece

The nest is empty now, its wide platform of sticks and leaves vacant, bare of feather, talon and beak; around the sides and in the middle a few bones remain, the discarded lives of mice, moles, something larger, growing brittle and white under the mid-summer sun. 

I started following the Decorah Eagle’s nature cam in early March – remember life back then? A time of Covid fears—uncertainty growing like the numbers infected—businesses shuttered, travel plans cancelled, the world moving inward, the future unknown. 

In these anxious times finding the website was a ‘beautiful discovery’, its peep into the live world of two nesting American bald-eagles offering up respite from my outside world. There, on the centre of my computer screen, sat a tall and stoic eagle, attentive and alive, sheltering three eggs beneath its puffed out chest. Something solid and firm, with focus and a clear mission. Too easily I was hooked. 

Over the next three months, from March to now, my life has followed two parallel paths. One a pandemic journey, the virus blasting through Italy and Spain—in Washington, the ‘powers that be’ denying and gargling blench— New Zealand in lockdown, Britain differing. The other an eyrir-world with two clear tasks at hand: hatching and raising three eagle chicks.

The first few weeks were the time of the eggs, the eagle pair taking it in turn to keep the three white ovals warm and dry. Back in my Covid world I was storing up food, converting currency into small nominations, and working with a district governor to setup an emergency clinic, the pair of us pondering where we might store the bodies. 

In mid-April the eggs gave way to chicks, the cam showing three balls of fragile and sleepy fluff one mid-week morning, the hatchlings looking small and naked amongst the sticks and detritus of their tree-top home. 

In my parallel world Khmer friends, jobless for two months, wondered how they would repay their micro-loans whilst, across at the temples where their ancestors once stood, the grounds were eerily quiet – Angkor reclaimed by a spirit of stillness. 

By late May the three eaglets—they had all survived—were looking much stronger; acting like preening teenagers, tired of the nest and wanting to break free; but novices to flight, unable to do so. 

Until last week that is when, after a few days away I clicked on the eagle site wondering, as the Mac wheel spun around, what I might find. The answer: nothing! Not a bird in sight. My eagles had flown.

My feelings? Firstly sad and disappointed but then something else, a measure of relief and joy that the eggs of March had endured; and that the seeds they once held were now soaring over the plains and hills of Iowa, terrorizing rodents, rabbits, voles and whatever else befalls their keen raptor eye. 

Meanwhile back in my native Aotearoa June has brought a different relief; a semblance of normality returning inside the nation’s borders. People are standing next to each other and shaking hands without fear; touching, hugging and kissing (not too much of the latter, it is still a country of emotional restraint). 

This weekend rugby will return to the nation’s stadiums; crowds once again assembling before stages of grass and dramas of strength and agility. I imagine that the grounds will be full, each game—in a very Kiwi way—a celebration of having passed through the Covid eye. 

And just this once I wish I could be there. 

So in this moment I feel happiness and gladness for my birth place and the eagles of Decorah. And to those here to read this, I am glad for you too. 

Kia haumaru

Dr. Howl