This time of year, I don’t want to talk to friends. I want to hunker down beneath my red wool blanket with its tallit of fringes. Time to light candles, wear flannel pajamas, eat oatmeal for breakfast.
Some say it’s what happens during this end-of-year time. Days are outweighed by long nights.
Grand conjunctions of planetary bodies line up in the sky.
Wisps of clouds hang upside down and get lost. “Hey! Where did everybody go?”
“Look inside. It’s the pandemic.”
Even the clouds are confused.
Confusion is not the word.
California hospitals decide who gets the ICU, and who gets the shaft.
Politicians bicker. Vaccines sit.
Families go hungry.
Longer comes the New Year.