It's been twenty-eight weeks since I left Chalk Hill, stocked up on groceries and headed home. Twenty-eight weeks of canceled trips and revised plans and loaded up pantries and bird feeders and neighborhood walks, daily writing and Zoom yoga. Twenty-eight weeks of porch concerts, SIP the Bay videos, chalk on the sidewalk, new songs, a musical in progress and a neighborhood zine. Petitions, postcards and letters. Colorful masks and new air filters, hand sanitizer and soap and water and safe social distancing.
I'm so fortunate.
Twenty-eight weeks and more than two-hundred thousand lives lost to Covid-19, plus George Floyd and Breonna Taylor and Rayshard Brooks and more names I should learn and say.
One name I'd rather not say.
3.6 millions acres of California and nearly 7000 structures burned. Boarded up windows and ashes in the sky and checking the AQI. RBG lying in state and 'pro-lifers' choosing courts when there’s nothing pro-life about their stance.
Black Lives Matter
Climate change is real