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 Seventy Seven

Tonight will be the longest night of the year at last. It feels like we have been living in that night for the last month, with the growing darkness, the grippe reborn’s continuing incursions in these parts, and quarantine protocols enacted to combat him.

This morning I rose later than usual, though I am still working at my correspondences this week, and was surprised at the darkness. It was as though it was the dead of night at eight in the morning, not even a glimpse of sun out our eastern windows. Only a week or so ago it was light out by the time I returned from walking my love to her tower for work.

This year of the dread lord I understand, more than ever, why so many of our ancestors celebrated the solstice. I’ve been much more observant of the ebbs and flows of the seasons this year. They feel like the only real markers of time I have in this year where every day has felt the same, with nothing to distinguish them. In years past I would have noted the spreading darkness of the long nights, but there would have been much to distract myself from it. Now there is nothing to do but watch its steady encroachment upon the day.

So today I will celebrate, as so many people have over the centuries, the beginning of the end of the long nights. Someday, not any day soon, but someday the days will be long, full of light and warmth. Now, at last, we can watch it’s steady approach and imagine the pleasant days to come.

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