It’s a small Wordle after all
A simple but addictive game has created its own clan
“I know you’re out there somewhere
Somewhere you can hear my voice…”
— “I Know You’re Out There Somewhere,” the Moody Blues
Lately we’ve been putting a bowl of peanuts in the shell outside for the blue jays, but that’s not who has showed up.
Instead it’s the ravens who come. Sometimes alone, sometimes in twos and threes.
Raucous.
Inquisitive. Punctilious.
If they catch sight of me through the window with their piercing black eyes as I emerge from my home office for a cup of tea, they’ll fly a ways off until the coast is clear and then return, landing with a thump.
They poke the nuts with their sharp beaks, stirring them around in the bowl, inspecting them from every angle.
If the peanuts pass muster, they scoop them up, gulping them to the back of their throat so they can carry three or four nuts at a time.
They take off, then, presumably to feast at an undisclosed location or to stash them for later.
There are days when, apart from my husband, those imperious blueblack birds are the only other living creatures I see.
I’m back in the cocooning phase of COVID-19.
With the spread of Omicron, it just feels safer here for now, cosied up in the quiet of home with my trusty Mac and my space heater, the teapot refilled regularly. With few distractions I feel focused, productive and fortunate.
My husband runs the errands, and I don’t need to go out unless a rare sunny day beckons and the sidewalks are clear.
Otherwise, I exercise at home and am lucky enough to have the things I need around me.
Except the companionship of other people, of course.
And then, one day, I notice a new conversation of sorts showing up in my Twitter feed. People are posting patterns of yell
ow, green and black squares, along with their scores. Some sort of online game called Wordle that has everyone talking. I dismiss it as something vaguely cultish.
I resist the urge for as long as I can, intrigued but reluctant to jump on the bandwagon.
But then I check out the website and play one game.
I can almost feel the tug of the hook in my cheek as I am reeled in.
It’s a simple game, but addictive. Try to reveal the five-letter word of the day in six tries or less by strategically guessing, letter by letter.
One word, once a day. That’s it. No special skills required except the ability to spell.
And yet, it is so much more. In this keenly felt isolation during COVID-19 — which wave are we in now? — Wordle has created its own clan.
I’ve heard it compared to the early days of television when channels were few and we all basically watched the same shows; that sharing Wordle scores on social media is the new hanging-around-thewater-cooler-and-talking-aboutlast It’s become like we’re all in the same clearing, sitting around one big communal fire. It’s intense, it’s mesmerizing, you’re searching for patterns that make sense.
You share each other’s triumphs and failures.
You challenge each other in friendly competition. You are speaking the same language, sharing the same small daily ritual. Walking around in our own little bubbles but with the same shared word in our heads.
Wordle has even captured the attention of Twitter’s poet laureate, @brian_bilston, who kindly gave me permission to quote from his poem,
“Wordles Apart” in far-apart cities, they woke up & wordled, then went online to share & conferdle on routes they’d taken & obstacles hurdled, the opening words which each preferdled…
This week came the news that The New York Times has purchased Wordle from software engineer Josh Wardle, who introduced it in October 2021. The Times says it will keep the game free to play, as it has always been — at least for now.
I hope so.
As each of us takes up our own small space in the world, it’s nice to feel that sense of connection. To know you’re out there, too. There is solace in the G-R-O-U-P. Solidarity in the C-R-O-W-D. We are not A-L-O-N-E.