
2:30 am. I flick open Sleep app. 4 h 25 m. Hmmmm. Dale-like. How does she do it? Lori’s magnesium? Something. Something.
Morning papers. COVID-19. Masks. No masks. Airborne Droplets. Transmission. Virus is a hoax? Monty Python and the Holy Grail: “Bring out your dead!”
4:50 am. I pack my sling…phone, camera, earbuds, water…and I’m out the door. This unknown life force pulls me forward.
57° F. Special Alert: Dense Fog. Exactly how my head feels. Dense fog.
I walk.
Dark.
Walking under street lamps to Cove Island Park.
Infinitesimal droplets fall on my face. Airborne droplets.
I roll up my sleeves, first right, and then left. Droplets land on the inside of my forearms, and they tingle.
“Hey you, Agnostic!”
“You talking to me?”
“See anyone else?”
“Can you feel that?“
“I’m feeling Something. Something.”
Droplets stop. Infinitesimal, ephemeral, and gone.
Gull cries overhead.
They trigger David Gray’s tune “Gulls.” I search and play it on a loop:
This land belongs to the gulls
And the gulls to their cry
And their cry to the wind
And the wind belongs to no one…
Toward the sea that god sewn
Toward the sea that god sewn
And I walk, looking out over Long Island Sound, fog beginning to lift.
Feelin’ something…
Notes: Photo mine. Weed Avenue, Stamford, CT. This morning.
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