The fog is thick this morning, a cold cocoon chrysalis shielding our house and holding it suspended in time.
It has been 38 days since my last confession.
I’ve been quiet, I think, because I’m hibernating.
The isolation and confinement of trying to be wise, trying to protect our people, has forced a sort of inward focus. Like an owl tucking its face in its wing for slumber. Or a dog curled up by the fireplace, tail over its nose. ...