Winter arrives, cold air and crisp afternoon sunsets, a hundred doves line up along my windowsills to catch the 6th street sun and sprinkles of heat escaping from my open windows. I begin to undress the Christmas tree - reluctantly, but tomorrow they turn the trees to mulch in Tompkins Square Park - begin to pack up the delights of a holiday season. How long until next time - is this what we say every year? Thank heavens for cycles. I drink my silly little teas and stay home, everyone is either sick or about to be, it's a strange, zen way to begin a new year as an introvert but the keys feel more familiar than the outside world again, wasn't I living through my own pandemics in my youth, haven't I been here before?
It's one thing to know you can survive through the end of the world.
I just wanted so much more than surviving.
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