Shelter in Place, San Francisco, California

‘The Sky’s the Limit,’ this yellow rose is called, and its blossoms have been with us nearly as long as the pandemic. Not quite, but close. I love the variation of colors on one flower, life’s natural stages on a single branch. Even as the rose’s first round of blossoms are almost spent, we see fresh new branches growing from the base. By mid-summer we’ll inevitably have a new crop of these yellow beauties to take us through to fall.

Today, we remember the lives cut short in wars gone by, even as we near a stunning milestone in the disease that stalks us now: 100,000 deaths in this country since February, an average of more than 1,100 a day - too many to fathom, too many individuals to mourn. Lives cut short.

This holiday has always seemed strange to me - a solemn tribute to the dead, mixed with our manifest eagerness for summer to begin. Memorial Day. The two meanings are at odds, and - if the weather’s nice - the latter tends to win, playfulness abounds. This year, especially, we’ve been warned the beaches will be crowded, the lakes teeming, the parks overflowing. And maybe for a few hours, folks will be able to forget the danger they are escaping even as they court another round.

I feel it too, the hunger to be free. But I am planning to stay home (sigh, again) honoring, in my small way, the recent dead and the brave souls who cared for them and who, we hope, will still be here for those who’re not yet sick. The sky’s the limit, I’m afraid. As I count the roses we have left, I cannot help but wonder… how many deaths will this nation record today and what will the summer bring?