A deer and I exchange curious glances as I walk slowly up a hill. I stop to say hello and to be an observer of this creature foraging for food. I send a mental apology for my presence but remain steadfast in my glance. I record the moment and move on. 

I enjoy the view from way up here where the world seems quiet and calm. The sun is shining but the trees bring a cool breeze that is calming. This is a moment of contentment. 

I wind up and back not having followed the road this far before. I am not sure where I will land and am unconcerned. I have a knack for following my nose and a harder time caring very deeply about maps. Getting lost is the way I get found. It hasn't always been the wise choice, but for the most part, it proves rewarding.  

Simply being can occasionally be enough these days. It isn't always important to be poetic, profound or hardworking. It might be better to be genuinely awake and aware. In times of pause, one is an observer, a quiet wanderer, gathering energy to propel firmly forward.  

Hummingbirds are natural at social distancing. It is rare that I can capture a photo of them as they flit about. As I raise my lens, they look back at me and quickly move away. They collect the sweet bits and abandon confrontation. On the rare opportunity a hummingbird is caught still and resting, the iridescent feathers of neck and chest appear to glow from within. In these instances, I am still, breath held. The moment will quickly pass, and I must take full advantage.   

Once a hummingbird found its way into the empty storefront attached to my art studio. The confused bird flew up near the rafters of the high ceilinged warehouse space. My studio mates and I gathered around in hopes the little creature would return to the outdoors. We made sure the doors were open wide and we talked to the bird as if it understood. He found a resting spot on a chain that was pulled tight to hold the room's industrial lighting. Meanwhile, we all looked to our phones and computers to tell us how to lure the hummingbird outside. 

The color red was touted as a color for which the bird would be fond. We gathered red buckets, a red quilt, red paintings etc. We stood outside waving them around foolishly. The hummingbird was as still as I had ever seen one. I took a break from the red dance to take a few photos.

When our sea of red failed us, we turned on the HVAC system in hopes that the wave of air would send the bird flying in the right direction. To our surprise, he continued to sit watching the harebrained humans. We gave up and decided to leave him to his own devices. As we buried ourselves in art making again, he eventually flew away, on his own terms. 

The overwhelming quiet can be incredibly loud. The slightest bit of activity can jostle the senses, but not enough to wake from the surreal state we all live in now.  For many, self awareness has gone out the window in favor of the selfish pact of one. Others form community in attempt to stay connected, but their connection may ultimately do them harm. Many fight for justice, while our so called leadership is a dumpster fire of absolute madness. 

The blue sky and birds chirping are simple pleasures which call for one to pause and take notice. I hear you birds, and I will not knowingly harm you.  

A pine cone has fallen into an empty parking lot, lost from the tree from which it came. I bend down to visit it. This lot, once full of cars, is now abandoned for the summer and indefinite future. This is the summer that time has new meaning, and our understanding of relationships with one another will be forever changed. 

Fishermen stand quietly waiting for a bite, a sign of other life. The foggy morning air is cool and comforting, and humans are few here. My mood is lifted immensely by this old place, near to the city that sings to my soul when I let it. The hills surround, hugging what is often hidden from plain sight. Rust and ragged show age and story. Boats tell stories of sailors and water wanders. It is beautiful as beauty can be, but I still see the broken bits that tell the true tales. 

An act of recording is a means to not forget, to be present and also remember. I am here; I am alive; I stand in this place and my heart is open. Pelicans fly by, majestic. I click away but their pace is quick and their spirits not easily captured. The prize is their presence. 

Tracking time seems entirely arbitrary now, but I still try to remember the day, the month, the year. Spring and summer pass in isolation from a once known reality. Everything is called into question, for good reason. Patience is a virtue most desired, and, for many, newly nurtured. 

This day reminds me of days spent on my bicycle, and how I once landed here by happenstance. The world is entirely different now, but my essence feels secure and constant. I stand where I stood then, taking some of the same photographs. I challenge myself to look in different directions. There is always something new to see and a deeper measure of understanding. I look out; I look in. 

A bee finds refuge inside the carcass of a crab. Seaweed morphs into the shape of a bird. Masks are worn only briefly when nearing humans, few enough to be counted on one hand.

Wanting to feel the calm the beach can bring, I smile a true smile, with teeth revealed. But I am not truly calm. When time is so ill-defined and days turn into months of on hold, one wonders when idyllic days will return. Recognizing that no time is free of complications, this point in history is an endless series of chaos, destruction and bad behavior by questionable humans. Greed brought us to this state, and now we swim in the muck of our own making. We take our oneness to mean self, when the planet and humanity requires us to humble our own egos in favor of healing what has been so very broken. 

Pelicans glide low and fast on their way to or from sustenance. A deer runs to the hills like a jackrabbit, nimble and appearing to fly. The fog slowly clears revealing a steely blue.   

For a change of scenery, I decided to take the car (and one of my damaged cameras) to a couple mid-century modern Eichler housing developments. I parked and walked, checking out the iconic homes, some of which still respect the original architectural design. In my research to locate these homes, I learned that Joseph Eichler was in fact not an architect but a real estate developer. He hired young architects to design homes inspired by his love of Frank Lloyd Wright. The wonderful thing about these neighborhoods was Eichler was a strong proponent of fair housing and seriously opposed to racial discrimination. He sold to people of color at a time when many other developers were discriminatory. 

From an aesthetic standpoint, what I liked most (but couldn't fully see) was that every home seemed to have an internal garden area right past the front door. The living area of the house wraps around this. The outdoors becomes indoors and vice versa. It appeared as though some folks had unique tropical plants growing there. Others used this space to store surfboards and bicycles. If a door was open, I could see that some treated their homes like a 1950s or 60s catalog showroom and others paid no heed to any particular aesthetic.  

My artist brain had trouble with all the ugly cars parked in front of some of the more attractive homes. I scoffed at a few grannyish doors that looked recently purchased at local big box stores. Some gardens were beautiful and wonderfully curated, and others were a mess of weeds and dry brush. Some paint jobs used well thought out color schemes, while others made me want to grab my brushes. I am not an architect, a landscape designer, house painter or car aficionado, and no one asked me. I was just feeling sassy and opinionated. Luckily, no one can hear my thoughts, at least I think they can't. 

Today I use another old camera, and I can't recall how it was broken or why I quit using it. All masked up and with a fully charged battery, I venture out. I quickly learn the screen on the camera is dead. Not only can I not review my images right away, but I cannot change or see the settings. I resolve to aim the best I can and cross my fingers. That seems to be the way things are right now anyway, uncertainty with a need to still be optimistic. Swimming in a sea of melancholy is tempting, but I would rather float and see where the waves take me. I can tread water if need be.

Bent over a bottle cap I am happy with the simplest of found treasure. I am unaware that a woman has halted her stride to wait for me to take my photo. I apologize and am thankful she has kindly waited. I pick up the pace to give her room only to drop my hand sanitizer and apologize again. I remind myself not to get too lost in the looking. Working alone in an art studio for years has prepared me for this social isolation. Only now, I imagine all other humans are zombies, because humor is necessary solace.

I watch crows eat garbage and attempt to get close. I find the zoom on the camera is also faulty and the birds get wise to my spying. The lookout tells the others of my presence, and I have sadly interrupted their feast. As I return to the sidewalk, from the alley I have entered, I see a policeman hidden beside a building, lurking. I venture on, masked and anonymous.

Since my current camera hit its demise from tiny grains of sand, I use my camera from 8 years ago. It has dings and scrapes on the lens from the bicycle accident that broke my wrist. This camera, although damaged, is an object of value. I add a few more photos to the thousands it has helped me create. The quality is not my focus as much as the act of seeking and understanding, the space and time moved through. Objects give clues to intangible consciousness, an ebb and flow of chance circumstance.

A man looks at his phone while walking a dog, a zig zag of unawareness. I hopscotch through the street guessing his next step. "Pick a side", I think loudly. I look around for an opening with no humans. I take my mask off one ear to breathe deeply, then quickly wrap the ear strap back around my ear. I am tired of not walking with my mouth naked and haphazardly ajar, for no other reason than it is how things used to be. I ponder when breathing unencumbered will be safe again. I am frustrated with these repeated thoughts, but it is not about me. It is about all of us working together for the wellness of humanity. I know this needed wellness extends way beyond simply wearing a mask. 

I walk past an apartment building where two men are chatting while smoking cigarettes. One yells to me, "Great day, isn't it?!" I yell back, "I guess as great as it can be!" I feel bad for my lack of enthusiasm when his energy is upbeat. He yells back, "It's always great when you have rock stars!" I am not sure what this means, but picture myself at a rock concert, standing right next to the stage. The men continue chatting and I walk on. 

I pass a honeysuckle vine again. This plant, I can smell through my mask. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. My eyes well up, but I do not let the tears drop. I let the plant signal a feeling of known comfort and continue on, finding courage in the perplexing present.