I look over my shoulder at the clock on the oven, 11:19 a.m. Not yet, I think. A few more minutes.
These are counting days. We count the deer we see on our morning walks, the orphan gloves dropped and lying at the edge of the sidewalk; the coyotes and vultures, one each yesterday. We count the days we’ve been sheltering in place, peruse the daily Covid-19 statistics in Michigan, in the US, and around the world. We open the fridge and count eggs. Continue reading “If This Is Shelter”