I spent the day with someone who is immune to covid. I do not mean that she tested for antibodies, or has a system that is super resistant to viruses. Neither does she walk around in a hazmat suit. It is simply that her routine has not been hijacked by thinking about it. 

 

Like mine has. 

 

Olly is two years old and her mother brought her for a visit. It is the fist time my granddaughter and I have breathed the same air since before the axis of life swiveled. We sat on the deck and sang about the bus, and ate blueberries. Her capable mother had brought a backpack with every imaginable need anticipated... sanitary wipes, popcorn in a ziplock bag that stands on its own, a change of shoes, sunglasses, a few toys, and several other items that stayed tucked in various zippered pockets. All Olly had to do was think about wanting a drink or a snack and it appeared. Like magic. 

 

Her grandfather had hung a swing in anticipation of the visit, and she discovered a spider trying it out. We sang to her. After sweeping the arachnid away Olly buckled in, and the age old wonder of swaying beneath an oak tree did not disappoint. Her aunts and grandparents and mother sat in a circle around her, smiling to beat the band, and gently pushing the swing in a new direction.  Then we ventured on a walk, taking all necessary pauses for flowers, feathers, airplanes overhead, and watching the water meander by. Her grandfather showed his prowess in skipping stones across the stream, and she got her feet muddy. It was lovely. 

 

Olly picked a ripe tomato from my garden, warm from the sun, and another to take home for her dad's sandwich. There was no need to check our phones, or comment on the news, or parse national events. 

 

Olympia lives in the same world as the rest of us, and yet she trusts that each day she will wake up with the people who love her, and there will be reasons to laugh and hold hands. 

 

Maybe I could be so wise.