It will pass. Keep on.


It was six months ago today that school first shut down. What a lifetime we all just lived in that half a year. And it's far from over. An understatement.

One of my greatest comforts throughout was the sunrise. Through much of the spring and early summer, sunrise is the only time that sun comes directly into our west-facing kitchen window, so nearly every morning I found the most awkward spot on the tiny kitchen porch to lean over the rail and sip coffee in the buttery morning. The symbolism was not lost on me.

We won't get the sunrise today; the sky seems a waiting shade of grey and it's that nagging September chilly. The wind rustles through the drying leaves and occasional cars whoosh by. Yesterday's rooster is quiet; the dog is too, which is a downright shock. He is undoubtedly in the garden destroying something he shouldn't. There is little other reason for that kind of blessed silence on a South Street morning.

Quiet, still, anticipatory. An election looming, school about to return, a pandemic in full force in some places, social tension on a highwire, and flu season too... it's highly likely that the hope of sunrise may get hidden for a while. 

These are the moments when I maintain faith, reminding myself that this shall pass. Does it appear foolish to hope? To continue to make art, to love, to laugh, to sometimes ignore? It does, at times.

To the best and most important questions, truly: no answer. 

Just keep doing those good things.


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