I opened my eyes, rolled over and looked out the window. A couple of birds hopped through the arbor grapevines into the feeder. May Day thoughts as a child came to me, rhyming songs and dancing around some May Pole (or maybe a tether ball pole), images of little children tossing flowers in the air.

I felt my body and brain tense up as my mind switched places to the workers of the world - this May Day. I could almost hear my heart aching.

Everything in my home is here because of a worker somewhere. Everything I listen to comes from a worker. The books I read and the paintings that surround me. Everything on the telly is there because workers figured out how to get it there. My clothes in a dresser made by workers, the socks on my feet keeping my toes warm, the streets of my town, the cell towers, the food on my breakfast table, the tea in my cup, the laptop on which I write. The grape arbor and the backyard fence. The garden seeds that come in those bright little packets. Everything.

There are new protests around the world today, pleading for the health and safety of our fellow world humans. In Covid time. Workers out in force behind (working) police lines, red flags waving, bullhorns blaring and Personal Protective Equipment six feet apart.

But what can I do?

I can thank the workers of the world and send money to support a workers group. I can buy a beautiful new painting from artiste/worker Eduardo Guzman. I can do my own yard work in the weeds under a warm sun.

I can meditate on life in our world.

And in my daughter's house next-door, where she tasks her three kids in their schooling and cares for that scrumptious little 3-month old, while her essential worker husband is out on the road, I can sweep the floor, wash a few dishes, do a load of laundry, and snuggle a wee bairn.

The sun will be out until it's not.

From me to you - take care, be well, be safe. And thank a worker somewhere somehow. Keep them in your heart. Keep you in your heart and I will do the same.

~ Kathleen Thomas