Our town’s sad mournful Christmas lights shining desolate, not a person in sight, bearing no resemblance to what once was before Covid made her unbidden entry into our world. It matters little how brilliantly they shine, without folk, they are drab, colourless inanimate objects. Bleak.
A friendly kitten accompanied me home from Holy Mass, happy and playful, not pining for the pre-Covid mayhem, one tiny bit. He stayed for tea. We were well pleased.
‘“Hope” is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul....(Emily Dickinson)
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