THE WALL

By Sarai Porritt

Some days I feel trapped and other days I am suspended, just waiting for the next thing to occupy my mind.

Business is not as usual and each moment of the day I mark off like a stroke on a stone wall, five then a line through it– six. I wish to make a difference, but my resources are limited and I feel frozen in place, forced to watch the erosion of time. Where things once seemed so common-place and hardly noticeable, now a trip to the grocery store is a huge adventure. We are watchful of others, making sure we are all compliant with the rules.

So to make my life slightly more interesting, as though interesting was something that happened to you like weather, I decided to build a wall. A rock garden wall. Day after day I have watched the news and heard the concerns of my kids, husband, friends, WHO, brother, nephew. Covid is all around. But, it hasn’t reached Salmon Pt. road yet. I look around at the astounding blue of the lake, the fawn coloured foliage, the leafless trees and of course the many incoming birds returning for their usual mating season. All of this seems to say we are still the same, life goes on. The chaos is in another place on the other side of the screen, not here in the unploughed farmer’s fields.

The rain has let up and it is a warm spring day with the usual ‘twirps ‘ and ‘trills ‘ of the birds darting about. The daffodils and crocuses have made a start and my orange lilies have stuck their green shoots up. They will grow on up through the rough earth, pushing up to the light regardless of the news and public opinion.

Every day for the past few I have gathered stones, flat grey limestones to build this wall. Some from the shore, some from farther fields. Every winter this barrier that protects these lilies at the corner of the driveway gets a knocking down by the fierce snow plough racing up Salmon Pt. Road to the end circle. The sign says 70KM /hr. and they obey it even though it is a stones throw to the end. But enough said of this. Today I will start my project again, only I will build a wall around the lilies and down along the drive to make a rock garden.

I lift and carry and build and rebuild, trying to find the right combination of stone versus shape and design. My heartburn has joined me and I stand my ground. Thinking how serene and untouched this place is away from the maddening crowd. It is hard to think what will come, and if it will ever change here in this soft quiet place.

Then, I notice a figure coming along the road far away now, but definitly coming toward me. A neighbour out for a walk, coming at the end of the day before supper. Maybe to build an appitite, just exercise. Hard to stay inside all day. I keep working moving stones about– adding, subtracting, keeping an eye on the stranger. All in black. Remarkable for this place and the tribe of people who live along this road. I can see that this must be a woman wearing a long mid calf coat, her head covered, dark glasses, black shoes and gloves. She is a silent walker, slight in figure and tall. She looks straight ahead.

Suddenly my phone alarms blinking luminescent in my pocket. An alert. I cannot make out the message. I look into the shadows but it is gone. The figure is still approaching, seemingly unaware of the abrasive sound of my phone’s alarm. Silently she moves on towards me. Again my phone’s alarm goes off. On and off on, and off. Loud, demanding, pulsating. I shield it with my hand to read the message but cannot see it all , but COVID-19 is blazoned at the top of the screen and then it is gone again.

Could Covid be coming to Salmon Pt? The figure passes me on the road. There is no acknowledgment and I watch her quietly move off in the other direction, her coat swaying in the breeze from the lake. The alarm sounds again and I take my phone to a place I can read the screen. But it is too late, whatever warning was waiting for me has vanished into the dark of the screen. I look up and see the figure coming back past my stone pile and on down the road. Once again, I watch her coat as it sways.

I place my phone in my pocket and turn to go into the house. Leaning up against the bench under the maple tree is a flat stone I had placed earlier for future use. Uncannily, it now resembles a gravestone, shaped narrow at the top, flat and thin, not unlike a pioneer’s marker. I shudder for now the cool air has started in and the day is done.