A year plus since the lockdown, and another Spring teases seasonal change. While the sun radiates the neighborhood, uneclipsed by a single cloud, a chilly breeze blows. The daffodils broke hibernation, with the forsythias following close behind.
Nevertheless, a familiar, invernal chill lingers. Tomorrow promises showers; my aching joints confirm.
And new COVID cases surge in New York again–just at a time when many of us are fed up. Too much cabin feaver, and limited opportunities to gather, have worn us out. An average rollout of vaccinations won’t cut it in the Empire State. And the pandemic has already shown us who we are, for better or worse.
It’s now over a year since the family and I attended mass. While a Diocesean dispensation holds, I miss the spiritual intimacy of Eucharist. Especially when another year feels like another neverending lent, I long for Easter.
in your pinks and whites
late for my own party, here is my entry for dVerse Poets’ Haibun Monday, which I hosted yesterday. The Pub is still open! Come join us!