The fumes of backyard, oak wood, fire pit smoke and the smell of wet clothes from a brief rain shower triggered a recent vision that we are not like the Egyptians of Exodus as they suffered the 10 plagues. This plague has no flail of God with the world His threshing-floor. No wheat, no chaff, no harvest, no nothing. This calamity was not willed by God.

Yes, this plague has a cold darkness we must walk through. But at least it appears to be not endless.

Like the rain it will cease, and a watery sunshine will yellow and warm our faces.

—–

The other day as W and I stood in the front of our garden we collided with a man who was on the other side of our jasmine covered, cast iron fence in the middle of the sidewalk swaying a bit from side to side as he advanced down the sidewalk. His eyes were bleary, his tanned face stubble two days old, but he was smiling pleasantly. Despite the morning’s growing heat, he wasn’t sweating despite his long sleeved shirt, jacket and heavy pants.

Try as I might to shut my ears to him, I still was listening and conversing with him several minutes later about the whisperings of the plague and what the local government might do to further restrict the citizens. He was most worried about a rumored 5 PM curfew. I told him that crime was down and so was traffic, accidents and cop tickets. That seemed to satisfy him and allay his fears. A minute later he ambled off to the east en route an announced street name that doesn’t exist anywhere on city maps.

As he disappeared past the next cross street – Lincoln Avenue, I hoped that cool night breezes would fan his and his other brother outdoorsmen’s cheeks in the coming hotter than normal weeks.

—–

Oddly I suppose, I miss the slight buzzing sound that used to rise from our streets as it seemed to call us out to us to come out and play. It has been replaced by hurried footsteps.

—-

There seems to be more than a few new types of folks who talk of the plague. Here’re my initial stabs at such a list:

Those who use the arguments mentioned on cable TV – let’s call them the sticklers.
There are the consolers, who assure us listeners that the present state of things couldn’t possibly last and, when asked for definite suggestions, fob us off by instructing us not to fuss to much about passing inconveniences.
A rarer but still visible type are the very important who push past you at the stores or at the gas pumps as if to inform us that their needs and wants come first before ours despite social distance spaced and orderly queues.
The triflers with their small requests and worries and the red-tapers with their required forms remain the same as before.

The overworked and harassed local and regional government officials are now much more in sight and whose dogged efforts to help us now deserve long overdue praise. Even in the midst of catastrophe they still function calmly and take initiative of relevance without being asked, unknown to their bosses’ bosses, purely and simply because that is their mission.
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W and I drove through town the other day and at the end of the journey started taking note of the closed, locally owned chocolate shops. We had previously been endlessly gazing at the faces of the few passing pedestrians as they walked among the empty and darkened storefronts, with their brave faces amidst what some were starting to view with unrelieved gloom. It was then that one of the chocolate shops appeared to be open. W brought the car to a prompt stop in the middle of Bull Street, looked at me, and with my silent nod pulled over and parked the car.

Chocolate by Turoni (interior above & front window below)

After reading for the Nth time this shop’s OPEN placard sign and confirming the wide open front door, we entered to find what appeared to be an old-timey apothecary store with cabinets displaying their cures, drugs and compounds for sale — European style, handmade chocolates and truffles. Despite the void of customers, it was doing a very good business with a reduced staff filling online and phone orders. We even found the store’s founding chocolatier in the back behind a large Plexiglas window making his confections.

Shopping this store this store was like turning on warm lights inside darkened souls as a gray dusk had started seeping into their interiors. We took home some of their wares as special treats and attitude adjusters.
—–

W and I have at times awakened in the middle of the night. Wasn’t sure why initially. It just started to dawn on me that it might be the town’s eerie silence. I had become so used to the nighttime’s barely perceptible hub bub for sound sleeping that my mind is now taking this new silence as a signal that something dangerously wrong is outside our doors and walking our tree arcaded streets.

Wildlife is confused too as the cries of baby birds now fill the night starting at 3 AM — the darkest hours of the night.
—–

This past weekly car trip about the city and surrounding countryside also revealed fewer and fewer ordinarily people on their doorsteps and porches during our spring weather season, Now most every front door is shut, even the Venetian blinds are pulled tightly down despite the sun’s gentle angle.

Yet, this plague has not killed all colors or vetoed pleasure. That countless Coastal Empire citizens viewed things in the opposite fashion as witnessed by the amazing surge of spring flower plantings, colorful seasonal flags and garden follies is perhaps one of the greatest and most hopeful human responses to the plague.
—–

Our beach town on Tybee Island had closed it beaches several weeks ago only to have the governor open them last Friday. The town retaliated by not opening up the beach parking lots and ticketing cars at metered spots at the various local beach entrances. Long live our local republics.

So the sea is out of bounds during the plague, and the beaches are mostly free of the young. On the beach no more.

—–

In my crazier moments of spirit, I wonder what if only this had been a tsunami instead of the plague. It would have been real bad shock. We would have counted our dead and living, and that’d be the end of it.

Lacking that, we citizens must remain well behaved “performing poodles” – sitting, staying, rolling over, shaking, but, mind you, no playing dead.
—–
I wonder how long it will be before I hear someone on our street finally reaching a breaking point and exclaiming “I don’t like this crap. Not a single bit. No more. No longer” before bolting outside and madly breaking his neighbors’ six foot separation barriers. That’s what could happen to the more social of us who get too hardened to the truth of the plague and its imposed silence, lack of laughter, empty streets and closed shops.
—–

We miss spending freely – our time with family and friends.

—–

Here’s the first announced local services cut back –- no more recyclables or yard waste pick-ups, effective this past Monday.
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Fun with Numbers

Given that reported nationwide mortality numbers from causes like murder, car accident, heart attack/stroke, and seasonal flu are way down, could American deaths during this time of enforced captivity net out close to a zero increase despite this disease? I’d wager it’ll be damn close.

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