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 Forty Eight

A satisfying day. I have turned over the earth in preparation for moving my seedlings outdoors. That day will be coming soon, though the days are not yet truly warm. The trees outside are transforming by the day, their branches now filled with tiny leaves where a few days ago you had to look closely to make out the buds piercing their soft bark.

My love is in the other room talking with her family who still live on the eastern islands far from here. Things there are much as they are in the Quarter. The grippe reborn has touched us all. It is hard to be so far from those we care about and not to succumb to worry.

The day otherwise has been quiet, as though everyone were fearful of disturbing the reverie that has settled over us all. There is a peace that seems impossible, wrong even, given all that is happening and all the dread lord has wrought. I feel it all the same. I want to hold it tight so that it doesn’t go, but I know that would be foolish. It is like holding water, if you try to clench it in your hands it will just flow through your fingers.

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