a prelude for april (scenes from a pandemic pt. iv)

I'm pretty sure I had plans for April's theme, but like so many things this past month, it's gone now. It's cold out there--cold like a normal Seattle winter, which isn't that cold, and is still warm enough that the leaves are starting to come in on the trees and the flowers are in bloom. There are even tulips at the courthouse. Spring is a time of vibrant colors, of life, and that's no less true when there is no one there to witness it. Those tulips still exist even if there aren't many people left at the courthouse, even if the usual spread of office workers eating their lunch on the steps, admiring the fountains and the flower arrangements. The color isn't there for us. So many people will miss the spring, sealed away in their homes--it's a small tragedy in the grand scheme of things, but it is one worth marking.

It's interesting how quickly the city is finding a sense of normal in all of this. In some ways we're still struggling, of course, but in others . . . this is how life is now. It won't last forever, but it could very well last for a very long time, and damned if we aren't determined to find a way to get by, to make it easy, or at least smooth. Within the past week, the data in Washington state has been promising. The growth of the disease seems to no longer be exponential; it's far from over, but it is comforting, at least, to think that all of this is working.

This month's theme is masks. Unlike the indifferent beauty of spring, masks, literal and figurative, are something which exist for us. There are masks which protect, masks which conceal, masks which keep us warm. And on some of them you can doodle a little angry face with a sharpie if you want. I am trying very hard to retain a sense of a schedule right now, but it is proving to be something of a challenge.