Recently, I had COVID for eight days. Friends have kindly offered to drop off soup or ginger tea on my porch, to walk my dogs, to pick up whatever we might need at the store.

Still, I’ve felt isolated, reminiscent of those years when fear of Covid kept my normally welcoming front door open only a crack. Such a tiny virus wielding such power.

Now I consider the feelings of people impacted by hurricanes. Hurricane Helene devastated my daughter’s community of Asheville, N.C., with unexpected and violent fury. The feelings of isolation experienced by hurricane survivors are acute.

My imagination takes me to the River Arts District, where artists lost their precious, irreplaceable work. I imagine the unbearable grief of losing a loved one, caught up and drowned in the muddy flood waters. Imagine being the tea shop owner whose neighbors told her they saw her broken building pass by on the river. Imagine the magnitude of everyone in a neighborhood losing their homes, having no place to sleep, no clothes, no family mementoes.

Imagine having no power, no running water, no communications, no gas to operate a vehicle, no cash on hand (when electronic payment means are useless). Imagine feeling torn between staying to rebuild and just running away to a safer place.

While some places do seem to be safer than others, the truth is, there is no safe place. The tragedy of Hurricane Helene’s unexpected visit to Asheville reminds us of that.

You may live in an area where natural disasters such as hurricanes, tornados, wildfires, and floods make the effects of climate change abundantly clear, or you may live in an area such as ours, where climate change gradually creeps in: in the gradual change in growing seasons, the slow process of species extinction, the development of virus variations, the migration of animals (including humans) to more welcoming climes, worldwide droughts and the resultant conflicts over water.

When climate change is not directly before our eyes, it’s easier to bury our heads in denial. Despite the urgency scientists warn us of, our efforts to educate people about the environmental dangers we face, and brilliant, creative minds working to solve problems, we find the idea of changing our own lives frightening and distasteful, and we bicker over solutions as if we had all the time in the world. Sigh.

When I feel paralyzed with grief, sages such as Jane Goodall and Joanna Macy gently remind all of us to keep a vision of hope as the inspiration for our actions. Fred Rogers said, “Look for the helpers.”

My recent illness has made the helpers in my own life radiant. And they’re abundant for Asheville: volunteers rebuilding, providing emergency care, searching for lost pets; people taking others in; nationwide donation campaigns; people of faith sending prayer and comfort. I remind myself to don my workboots and gloves and help, one step after another.

Each step can hold up a light in the darkness that others may follow. May a vision of global health, peace and security guide us. May we survive; may we thrive.

Janey Wagner is a Fredonia resident.