S invites us to her cottage for dinner. J brings Maine quohogs, meaty clams with large burnished mahogany shells. S makes an Italian pasta concoction with the clams and we eat overlooking Boothbay Harbor as the sun goes down. This is only the third time since the beginning of the pandemic that J and I have gathered socially with anyone. We’re all certain we do not have the virus, yet at the same time we feel constrained by its protocols to stay outside and not to get too close. We don’t hug. We use paper towels in the bathroom. We don’t stop being careful. It’s a nod to the virus’s invisible presence in our lives. Even though we’re not sick, it infects us.
Looking at the sea I expand, I breathe more deeply.
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