Thursday, April 2, 2020

More chalk writing covers the square of bricks where the pedestrian street and my street cross. It looks like several children took quite a while making it. I see both Hebrew and English, but as I arrive home it’s too dark once again to read them. I hope it's still there in the morning when I wander out to get groceries. I don’t think it’s supposed to rain tonight. Nothing of note has happened today: no new government decrees, no surprises at work, no word of people whom I know personally having fallen ill. Numbers on news pages continue to rise, showing those who have the virus, those whom the virus has taken, and, on some sites, those who have recovered. I keep hearing of musicians around the world, more or less well known, that we’ve lost. I wear my mask consistently when I go out, usually cursing while I put it on as the straps and my fingers get tangled in my hair. I haven’t gone into the supermarket today or noticed anything about the cafe. I have spent all day at my desk, working on projects that are deemed essential but seem far removed from the crisis. I remember that an old friend is now a nurse in New York. I resolve to write to her this evening, though I don’t know if she’ll have time to respond.