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 Two Hundred Fifty Seven

A glorious sunrise greets us this morning as we rise from bed. Waves of red and orange and pink move through the banks of cloud standing in the eastern sky, the colours shifting their hues with each passing minute as the sun climbs into view upon the horizon.

One of the benefits of the shorter winter days is that I am up in time to see the sunrise. The angle of the sun at this time of year, keeping the sun low on the horizon most of the day, creates spectacular sunsets and rises. They are fleeting though, creating moments of beauty that last only a few minutes. This is in stark contrast to the summers where they linger for hours.

 In the midst of this gloomy winter, when all one can seem to dwell on is the toll the grippe reborn is taking upon us all, it is easy to forget that the sweeter things in life exist. Each day brings more grim news as seemingly greater numbers fall to his touch, and each day it is hard not to long for all those things that bring us pleasure that are currently denied us by the quarantine protocols. But a sunrise is enough to remind us that there is still much good in the world, and that there are beautiful things the dread lord can never touch.

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