When you Hear Ghosts Breathe – COVID-19

When you sit in your house on lockdown, turn off the noise boxes. Relish in the silence. In Dominican Republic paradise is speaking.

Motos are silent. Neighbours silent. Very little traffic. The faint sound of the ocean in the distance is not normally heard.

The squak box on my partner’s phone is alive in the silence. A group of Dominicans, some fearful, some know-it-alls, talk about a war that no one knows anything about how to fight. There are no Generals. It’s all learn as you go. It squaks of new cases of COVID-19 popping up. Who are they? Where are they? Who did they expose? The, “You need to …” Misinformation runs rampant, superstitions run high.

When I can’t take listening anymore I flee outdoors. On the lanai the squaking is lessened but still audible. I have this feeling of waiting for more bombs to drop. Three days ago there were twenty-one confirmed cases. Today there are seventy-six. This normally social country is now only social over social networking. On lockdown with an enforced 8pm to 6am curfew.

It’s so silent we can hear the ghosts of our ancestors breathing. We have learned nothing from their demise. History has shown us many pandemics. Sadly China dropped the ball on containment. Now the world on lockdown implodes.

On the lanai I survey what is below me. Devoid of people, only the odd free dog, the birds singing and a gentle breeze swaying the trees. Looking at the unlocked wrought iron gate with a feeling of intense dread I wonder when the reaper will present himself at the gate in waiting for his next guest. I think I will go lock the gate. I am becoming superstitious.

Listen to the palms…

~Loca Gringa
© Loca Gringa and https://locagringa.wordpress.com

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