May 25, 2020

Intermittent fireworks in honor of Memorial Day. Beautiful sweet days.

States “opening up” are experiencing, in several cases, severe spikes in Covid19 cases and deaths. This statistic is blandly reported and not, that I have heard, much remarked upon. There is no sense of the collective. My guess is that people will assert, without shame, that the freedom to shop without a mask balances the death of hundreds unknown to them. Perhaps age should be described as the time when you begin to discern all those horrors you cannot fight. You do not exactly withdraw, but you relax a little, waiting for the battle meant for you to drop its weapons into your hands.  Still, my garden is glorious. The first giant calla blooms. The first white rose. The butter-yellow roses like resting butterflies. The scent of peonies and rose in the front yard alternates with that of the carrion flowers. The white waterlilies floating on black water. Tremendous progress on The Nurseryman’s Wedding. The days seem as long as two days, but for some reason I don’t mind.