Yesterday I had to drop something off at the post office, one of the few times since March of being outside the house not simply in nature. The errand brought me, iPhone in hand, to our neighborhood “village,” Multnomah Village, a one-street strip of stores, restaurants, dry-cleaners and the inimitable Annie Blooms bookstore.

My first thought, “does a falling branch make a noise when no-one is around to hear it?” pretty much covered the rest of the experience.

The street was deserted

Stores permanently closed or in the process of being refurbished for new tenants.

and the rest of them perhaps not avers to this sentiment:

Some posters encouraged patience,

some counseled political action.

The only accumulation of bodies could be found in the window of Annie Bloom’s with a diorama made by the author of a new children’s book: Maggie Rudy.

I was enchanted by the mouse folk (and the creativity gone into the display)

but they had to share my attention with the scrabble-playing dinosaurs in the wine store window across the street….

The eerie quality of the neighborhood silence was enhanced by references to dreams and strange words (I looked it up when back home and some very sketchy references came up…)

Along the way were reminders of being alone,

and speaking of which, shout-out to all children:

Calling her wouldn’t hurt either…..