"I have never been a germaphobe until this month, but now I can’t shake the image of the crowned virus which could fill my throat and lungs, and turn me into a hacking, wretched vector of death..."
The stillness had not outlawed the soul-craft birthed out of dial tones...
No longer will the first sip of my second cup be during the walk to my office...
Life in the time of pandemic is not in-person, day-of-election voting...
I’m not a man with a sign and unkempt salt and pepper beard standing at the end of the highway for you to ignore...
"It's not surprising," says my 16-year-old son, "People just haven't been paying attention..."
These are the first words I’ve written in weeks...
No man with a long white beard and a staff told us to paint our lintels in lamb’s blood...
A simple walk can be a metaphor for life, can’t it?...
