I wake in the middle of the night knowing something in the air has changed. The neighborhood has reached a silence that can only mean one thing. I wait for it in the dark with nothing but the sound of my own breath, and finally…there. There it is.
Another season quietly arrives in the predawn hours on the tail of the setting moon, and I can no longer sleep. Alert with anticipation, I stare into the shadows.
Hello old friend.
It’s been six months since Covid first made headlines as it began its sweep through New York City. Six months since the endless scream of sirens racing up and down our streets forever changed our understanding of fear and faith. Six months since we were first truly awoken, as a collective, to the reality of what it means and should mean to be alive.
I came across a BBC article this week over my morning coffee that brought me to tears, which, honestly isn’t that hard to do. But, this one was particularly emotional, because it’s something I talk about all the time and have experienced first-hand.