Up flies the kite, down falls the lark

It smells like sea-mist outside. I don't think I have spent so many days indoors in a spring since the year after I left grad school, when mostly what I could do was lie on a couch and be in pain and feel the gap widening between the trajectory my life had been on and the burnt-out debris tumble of whatever it was now. Even then, I could walk around the reservoir on the days when I had strength for it. After losing most of this actual weekend to pain, I finally got out of the house this afternoon; it was overcast, but I found flowers.

( Unite and unite. )

We saw almost no one wearing masks as we walked a kind of parallelogram around the neighborhood. (We did see a number of people with their masks around their necks, like bandannas. Great fashion statement. Lousy efficacy.) I hate what is not being done. I hate who decided this country shouldn't do it. I said elsenet, I'm pretty sure you get sheydim if you say a Mi Sheberach backwards, but I'm willing to risk it.