Notes on the Grippe

Being an accounting of the recent and continuing pandemic and its various circumstances, from the perspective of an inhabitant of the regions lately called the Lost Quarter. Dates unknown.

Day Thirty

The thirtieth day of quarantine brings more snow. It is a miserable day, wet and chilly, though at least the snow is not accumulating in any great amount. It feels as though this is how it began, though I know that isn’t true. Hopefully this is not how it ends as well.

Last night was restless and uneasy, my mind filled with dreams that started me awake. Images bloomed and faded, slipping from my grasp and leaving only the haunted emotions they engendered. I awoke in the morning feeling as though I was mourning something, though I have no idea what.

There is something so strange about all of this. Perhaps the oddest aspect is that it never ceases being strange. At no point does it seem normal, even as it becomes the tedious norm.

Yesterday I saw the first green tendrils from the plants I started emerging from the soil. A few tiny shoots, fragile things coming into this world, hopefully to bloom someday.

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