There’s an old black walnut tree in the wooded part of the meadow that I can’t wrap my arms around.

There’s an international health crisis happening right now that I can’t wrap my head around.

So this morning, after an uncharacteristic sleep-in that saw the sunrise at least two hands above the eastern horizon, I went to visit that tree and offer it our troubles. Surely this seasoned and sturdy relative would have some wisdom, some calming perspective to help right-size an over-anxious heart like mine. On the south side of its massive grooved-bark trunk is an indentation that my back fits into perfectly. I nestled in and, still standing, faced the bend in the creek, wondering what would be different for us all when the sunset was two hands above the tree line to the west.

Listening to the robins organizing their days, and the sparrows arguing, it’s easy to imagine a different world than the one we’re currently experiencing. Out here, everything is fine and moving as it should. I let that feeling settle in, knowing it’s only partly true, and bow my head.

Just two days earlier, the skies let loose with torrential rains, and gave us our first flood of a spring not even twenty-four hours old. The raging waters cut through and collapsed a section of a five-lane road near the office, stranding residents and commuters alike, and several elderly folks were rescued by boat and moved to safety. Pandemic and flood in one day; no one wants to even whisper what’s next? The answer would be more than we could bear.

After brunch (a steaming bowl of comfort—creamy oat bran with walnuts, butter and maple syrup), I hung a load of laundry outside on the line, glad for a brisk wind that would snap the wrinkles from my damp work clothes and leave the fabric cool to the touch. With “normal” up for grabs right now, I’m at least trying for familiar.

But…how are you doing? I mean that. My own social circle isn’t so vast and active that I see everyone I know every day. But knowing that I can’t makes it even more compelling to check in, reach out, offer reassuring words of comfort with some irreverent humor tossed in where it’s appropriate and appreciated.

How are you coping? Isn’t this all just the weirdest thing ever? And tragic, and surreal, and unsettling? Jump in here with your own descriptors. It’s also filled with unexpected gifts that could change forever the way we function in the workplace and the effort we give to our relationships. I don’t know what we’ll be, collectively, when we’ve muscled through to the other side of this, but I know for sure we won’t be the same. In some ways, that will be really good. And in others, there will be losses to grieve. Whatever the task, I hope we can face it together with the best of ourselves intact and ready to work.

I think I can wrap my heart around that.