Thank heavens for the expected for the
ordinariness of routine for it reflects
normalcy, it shouts it from the rooftops
and there, on roofs and around eaves and
looped over front yard conifers and shrubs
are your neighbours on this cold and blustery
November day threatening rain -- but it could
even be snow flurries -- stringing up their
coloured, blinking Christmas lights and
evergreen decorations, the Santas and the
reindeer all reminiscent of long-familiar
days of joy and celebration, the sound and
form and colour of the yearly Event of The
Year that children yearn for and must not be
disappointed in. How then is this year different
from any other that has preceded it in living
memory, other than the wretched looming threat
hovering over all that is? Possibly the hope that
it will vanish as swiftly as the threat now afflicting
humanity reared its menacing affliction to vanquish
all that human-designed science could muster
in defiance of just another anomaly of nature.
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