I went out one morning in a thick Delta fog, my mood heavy and somber. My feeble lens strained to capture the crows clinging to the towering trees. . . the geese in a distant field. . . the juxtaposition of wind, wing, and windmill.
I came home that evening and watched an impassioned plea from a news anchor whose partner had fallen ill with this terrible virus. She begged us to reconsider any inclination to take the chances of infection as any less than certain. I had been on the fence about going home for the holiday. Her message struck home. I canceled my travel plans. I sent a message to the celebrity, thanking her for bringing me to my senses. I called my sister. I emailed my friends, my brother. Then I fell into my chair and wept.
The next day my phone sounded with messages as I drove home. My sister on the line from St. Louis, crowing:, “You’re in the news!” Friends on social media started sharing the link. I scrolled through the article, unbelieving. Someone had seen my message to Rachel Maddow; someone else had commented; and a connection had been made. A story wrote itself.
My sister’s voice came across the miles. Though I could not see her face, her radiant smile shone through the wire. I took her love and pride into my lonely hours. And the fog lifted.
It’s the twenty-first day of the eighty-third month of My Year Without Complaining. Life continues.