Here She Comes
There came a time when there were periods of daylight across the country. Hospital reporting showed minimally better numbers, better than nothing. Just the same, there were pockets throughout the country still in the throes of heavy outbreaks. Whatever your story was, it was the same as mine, we were all weary.
In late summer, 2021, Covid reached out and bit life on Broadway. All began pleasant enough. Summer had finally given way to autumn. There was a welcome respite from worry, technicolor views of leaves changing. The red and brown and golden colors held us in hypnotic fashion with fresh sparkles in the mind and a few new wrinkles to smile about.
For myself, there were preparations for the seasonal jump start of new ideas. New writings, new music, all things with a promise of hope. We had gone through months of holding our collective breaths, persevering through a long season of restrictions and lifestyle changes. We were hanging on and moving onward.
Beyond the panoramic landscape though, a change in seasons also brought challenges. Along with school and germs and allergies and colds all bearing down, fall is a susceptible time of year for me. At the outset of Covid, most people expected me to get sick. No doubt, with my history of hard living, heart attacks and, well, compromised up to my neck, it was expected that I would indeed be a casualty should I get the bug.
Didn’t happen. Not yet, anyway. When death’s fog came down the street, it hit my mother. She survived, but it could have easily gone the other way.