If the plague were an animal, I’d choose to imagine it as a big gray bear.

To the bear we are fit show ponies, trotting along, trotting along. Sadly I feel we’re actually now just concrete versions of these steeds.

Not handsome. Not well groomed. Just medium gray tinted ones with no gloss. Trapped in mid stride with only one rear hoof on the ground perilously holding us up and preventing our tumbling over.

—–

I started this plague chronicle as a personal assortment of snippets, thoughts and observations that are neither demonstrably bad or overcharged with emotion. I remain unsettled by media themes, articles and breaking news announcements that seem to be coming from outer space outposts that float high above our land from elliptical orbits transmitted to the plague-ridden populace. Invariably they contain epical or soap box drama show stories or Nobel Prize winning expert verbiage. Their sympathies are genuine enough. But, across thousands of miles of land, sea and space, their well-meaningness is jarring, since it is we, not they, who are here loving, recovering or dying — not together but alone and apart for each other.

They’re more than a bit too remote.

—–

If this was a right and proper plague confinement, there’d be sentries we could bribe to sneak us out beyond the walled enclosures we’re in. We wouldn’t bolt out right away. No, we’d leave it to the sentries to decide on the best moment. We’d spend some few days and nights at their places near the gates. At the right moment of absent or blinded eyes, human, camera — fixed or drone mounted, we’d dash.

Off in the distance, two errant shots might ring out. Another get-away, perhaps?

Incidents of this sort, should they become frequent, likely would compel the authorities to declare martial law and enforce the regulations deriving from such. House robbers and porch pirates would become looters, and hence shot, not detained or arrested. So, government logic goes that the wiser among us would decide to stay put for the time being.

BTW the local cops used their SWAT drones to roam over Forsyth Park this past Saturday AM, while the local Farmers Market was in full swing.

In a full RoboCop voice, the drones pre-recorded message repeatedly commanded the curious 100 feet below:

“Due to the current health emergency, members of the public are reminded to keep a safe distance of six feet from others.”

After the drone pair recovered in a Blue Angel like section landing, the mayor led the assembled cops to sheepishly golf clap their approval.

Local TV reporters covering this to their benefit did not smirk.

Coastal Empire RoboNanny?

—–

There were reports last week that DoD is making 100,000 body bags available to the states. I guess government models predict that coffins are about to become scarcer.

—–

As western democracies’ death tolls from the Wuhan Virus break the five figure barriers and march steadily upward toward Hiroshima casualty levels, when will we commence a discussion of an appropriate response to the CCP’s deliberate lies and their all-too-knowing responses of blame shifting, fear mongering, cornering the world’s med supply markets, IP theft of US experimental anti-virals, war profiteering on crap PPE products, etc, etc?

Despite the lack of compelling footage or video of the dead like this

August 6, 1945: survivors of the first atomic bomb ever used in warfare are seen
as they await emergency medical treatment in Hiroshima, Japan. (AP Photo, File)

methinks it’s time for an open national security policy discussion on the CCP’s slow-mo, bug version of a Cold War neutron bomb attack, killing some of theirs and as many of ours as possible, leaving the buildings and factories intact, but being sure to take our cannolis.

—–

This past Palm Sunday weekend saw empty churches. During her Sunday AM walk that morning, W saw two events worth mentioning:

Outside the rear of Baptist church on Whitaker Street she saw a robed prelate and five of his congregation gathered in prayer. Appropriate distancing but as near to God as they could be.

On the southern end of Forsyth Park, she observed a makeshift feeding station for the homeless. One person was carrying bags of ready to eat foods from car trunks to a folding table and closed picnic cooler tops, while another rounded up the hungry homeless from their perches on adjoining street corners, benches, bus stops and shady spots along our sidewalks. All recipients were orderly and much appreciative as all food mission meals had been suspended a while back until further notice.

—–

Savannah has not closed its operational cemeteries’ gates. Yet.

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