It feels as if we’re on the precipice of a new era. Spring is about to burst forth, and the trauma of the past two years is hopefully behind us. So much has changed. So much has stayed the same.
For those of us who languished over the past two years, the urge to stay in the same lane is too compelling. It’s easier to do nothing, stay at home, avoid the world, than it is to face the potential danger of being around others and getting sick. Even if, for most of us, that illness might now actually be minimal. Sure, there’s always the risk that you’re one of the unlucky few who get hit badly. But the majority of Covid cases post-Omicron seem to be people who were bewildered at how mild it actually was. Especially if they’ve been vaccinated and boosted. We all have to determine our level of comfort and assess our own risk, but I think I’d prefer to get out into the world than hide from it and continue on this downward spiral of sadness and despair.
A few days ago, a video surfaced of 
The red winged blackbirds are back.
What are you calling it? Post-pandemic? In the future? When this damn mess is done? You know what I mean, that ephemeral, non-specific point in the future when we get back to normal. Or whatever normal will mean at that point. When we all peek out, tentatively, like shy forest creatures, from the nests we’ve created for ourselves, our warm, safe places, and shuffle through the dew-laced leaves to look up to the bright sky with optimism and hope.