Coronavirus is coming.
Some say it is already here.
It started off floating across Hubei Province on silent bat wings. It touched down in Seoul and Osaka. Then soared across the ocean to Milan and Madrid, headed to the New World.
Quickly and inexorably it flies. It touches the lives of oldest among us, those with four score years of experience and silences them, except for the metallic sound of the ventilator.
It has brought with it anger -- anger at a lack of testing and anger at long lines at airports because of testing. It has brought anger at the president and anger at the Democrats. Most of all, it has brought anger at both those who take it seriously and anger at those who don't take it seriously enough.
Even more, fear has settled over society. It is a fear of lack -- of inadequate food, antibacterial gels, and toilet paper. It is a fear that the government officials and doctors and scientists don't really know what they are doing. Most of all, it is a fear of death in all of its forms -- even death that comes from China on silent bat wings.
I sit in my home and think about all of this. I see the darkness that is engulfing those around me and wonder if the light can overcome. What does hope look like in a pandemic?
Out of my window I can see a peach tree. All winter it has stood, bare and gnarled, but now it blooms a brilliant pink.
It knows nothing of Hubei and Italy, of viruses and vaccines. It only knows that spring is coming and the One who gave it life has promised that seedtime and harvest, cold and heat, day and night shall not cease.
Until He comes...
Well measured thots
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