Quarantine Essay Series: The Dripping Hose

Update since writing this piece during quarantine: I recently found myself taking that summer weekend.

Hi readers, I have drafts of pieces I’ve written over the last few years that I will be sharing over the course of the next few weeks. It is hard to describe what the last two years have been like for a lot of us- so many moments and emotions have passed and have been endured both in slow-motion and an uncapturable pace. 

This piece was written in July 2020 in my backyard, a small and quaint sanctuary in a very chaotic time. It is called, The Dripping Hose.

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The Dripping Hose

I long for a lakeside summer weekend, instead in my backyard eating takeout on a lazy Sunday afternoon. I am reading an article on ESPN about a sports documentary, rekindling a passion for sports hidden away by the demands of life. I feel content.

I have my matcha latte next to me, which was the real reason for the rare delivery order. I was reluctant to summon the treat, but now glad for the simple delight.

I take a moment to enjoy a sip and look up from my computer.

I notice the greenery all around me and take in the beauty of nature, even in a confined backyard. Trees, suddenly taller and greener than I had observed before. A quiet stillness, other than the rustling of leaves as the welcome breeze passes by.

It is then, that I notice the dripping hose to my right. I get up to tilt the nozzle up to stop the leak, but the water keeps coming out.

“This needs to be fixed,” I think, but the dripping hose is too big a task for the day and I gently lay it back down.

I go back to sit on my chair, eat the rest of my summer roll and continue reading.

In need of another break, or perhaps just to enjoy the stillness once again, I notice the drips of water from the hose rippling on the cement again. Detected not by sight, but sound. Mimicking the sound of a flowing current of water, perhaps even a lake.

And I bask in the calm it brings.