Summer
My memories of summers past are sunlight-clear, How each began: that joyous final hour of the final day of school, the assembly hall jam-packed with students, and center-stage, the school orchestra, setting the room alight with soft strains of flute, a wistful requiem for the days of school friendships past. We bid sweet farewells. We looked to unending horizons that beckoned with promises of far-away lands. This summer, we are birds caged. Nature blooms and beckons from the outdoors that imperil us. Daffodils open sunny arms to bluer skies yet I am filled with dark and anxious dread as grocery stores display their empty rows and neighbors march along silent, suffocating streets, giving each other wide berths. April really was the cruelest month, choosing who would breathe and who would not, who would seed pod and Godspeed the virus and who would stop dead. Ventilators are scarce; victims, in abundance. My father works the battleground each day,
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