I came to the office today for the first time since September 10. I passed the wreckage in a surgical mask, and beneath a literal cloud whose metaphorical twin covers the entire world.
Two lines kept kicking around my head: "Dust in the air suspended/Marks the place where a story ended" and "to make an end is to make a beginning."
Many stories ended last Tuesday, and an enormous one began. Where it will end is the question of the day, if not the century.
Pardon the dramatics that may have infected my post. It's hard to avoid.