After Covid-19

I didn’t find bugs before.
I didn’t take in leaves, branches, blooms
in front of Windows,
beside the roads.
Before.

I didn’t know squirrels before or
chipmunks,
didn’t watch daily theatrics of crows, chickadees, hawks
unfold in front lawn branches.
Before.

I didn’t nod
along to rhythms
of my neighborhood, relying on changing sounds
of outside to keep time.
Before.

I didn’t smell
buds of spring, each a different sweet.
Before.

I didn’t taste air, my palate
distinguishing flavors – savory petrichor, sour humidity.
Before.

I didn’t feel weight of hugs,
electricity of high-fives,
snap of kissed cheeks.

Before.