In a matter of days we have as a society been taught not to touch. I read a conversation online about how jarring it felt to watch movies in which people freely hugged and bumped up against one another. Something as precious as handshaking has become dangerous. I have noticed my own knee jerk response when I see someone walking by, which amazingly I still have. 

I wonder about the impact. When we learn to retract from each other does isolation become cemented? When all of this is over, what will the air be like as we tentatively relearn to trust? 

I still recall my last embrace before the world shut down. I was out for coffee with a friend, not quite having accepted that this was sketchy behavior. As we stood to leave I felt awkward and unsure. But she threw her arms around me and said goodbye. It was sweet. And yet I doubted. 

What messages are our bodies internalizing, about the recklessness of human contact? It is not as if we have no prior experience with good things going away. 

I find it healing that the flowers did not pick up on our clues about retreat. The daffodils and snowdrops are blooming with the easy brightness of a hundred springs past. While they are not a substitute for skin and voices, maybe they are enough for now.