Each new headline reads like something from a schlocky dystopian thriller. A senator who hates the government has tested positive for the virus. So has a famous opera singer. The chancellor of Germany is in self-quarantine. Fiction feels like the only workable reference point these days.

I spent the morning scrolling through images of empty highways and blank parking lots that look like a new form of land art or maybe a message to the gods.

Meanwhile in New York City, a lone fruit stand on First Avenue plays The Bee Gees at high volume. “How Deep Is Your Love” fills the empty street, echoing across the shuttered storefronts while I get a bit misty-eyed.

Each night in 2020, I wrote a short post for a series called Notes From the End of a World because I wanted to etch these days into my memory. Before the world changed completely.
Subscribe
Notify of
guest
0 Comments
Inline Feedbacks
View all comments
Related Reading
August 7, 2022

Passage

Interstate Scene 9: Maps of the Arctic give me vertigo. All that blank bright land feels like leaping off a rooftop.
March 16, 2020

Vigilance

Riffling through an old box of keepsakes, I came across a note that I wrote to her five years ago.
February 16, 2020

Lake

The 45th parallel is the halfway point between the equator and the North Pole, and you can feel the geography shift when you see all that big pine and cold water.
0
Would love your thoughts, please comment.x
()
x