In answer to the most repeated question nowadays concerning the world's return to normal, Thoreau might have said what he did say: Not that the story need be long, but it will take a long while to make it shorter. Schools that reopen send students back home when contagion spikes again. When the sun shines between days of rain, public beaches and patio dining beckon. Five weeks ago, the man who cuts the grass in our neighborhood asked if we knew anyone who'd come down with the virus or died from it. This weekend, he said his wife will only buy groceries online now. It's hard to visit friends or even family. You stand on the porch steps, then venture into the foyer. Soon you're on the couch with a glass of something fizzy in hand. We'll buy stamps and cards to send to others far away. Someone says If we die, we'll die together. Cicero mused, If I had more time, I would have written a shorter letter. Now the sun is setting and the river has never looked more lovely. Gold, indigo, and the distant punctuation of wading birds at its edges: black- crowned night heron, glossy ibis and common gull; egret always stirring up the muddy ink pot.
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.