Tuesday, April 21, 2020

The sirens sound as I walk to work. I hear four or five of them, surrounding me. I don’t know how many are echoes. An old couple stands in their yard, waiting for them. Those of us who have been walking stop. The one car that is moving down the street pauses. It doesn’t pull over. The driver gets out and stands beside it. The pitch rises over the first few seconds then remains steady. Against it, I hear other sounds more clearly than against traffic or silence. Several different birds are singing. One dog barks, then another, and another. A dog far in the distance howls briefly, as if trying to sing along. A child is calling to its mother, who doesn’t respond. Down the street, I see that the three cardboard boxes have reappeared on the wall. New crayon drawings are pasted to them. Holocaust Remembrance Day events appear online, small ceremonies from the state and the city, produced for livestreams. The news shows cars on the highways stopping for the sirens. Last year, they had been in traffic jams. This year the roads are more empty. When the sirens end, we resume walking. The street seems even quieter than before.