Like always, bird songs – wild and domesticated – pour into the late afternoon. The March sky is exactly how it should be, cloudless and crisp and ever so bright. Here, in my quiet piece of this lake town, it is easy to pretend like all was well.
“Such a beautiful day,” I tell my husband as I stand by the doorway to our small balcony, taking in the spotless vault of gentle blue.
“Too bad we can’t go out.”
The moment those words came out of my mouth, the reality of it all hit me.
