A pandemic diary: Change and perseverance
August 27, 2020
I was sitting in traffic the other day when a dragonfly dropped out of the sky right in front of the windshield. It hovered like a Blackhawk, wings beating impossibly fast, before zipping away out of sight; their average speed is about ten miles an hour but they can get up to 35.
For many people, the dragonfly symbolizes change and transformation, especially within the self. Red ones like the one shown here are sacred in some cultures. Whatever their color, the dragonflies in Atlanta are nowhere near as thick as they used to be at the beach. They’re still a welcome reminder that even as our days run together in a numbing morass, time and the world move on and so will we.
Of course, everyone expected to be closer to normalcy by now. The local art cinema where my wife and I have watched a lot of movies is reopening with plenty of precautions, but we’re not not going back yet, not when Georgia has some of the worst case numbers in the country and our county has the highest in Georgia.
All we can do is what we can do. A year ago, we were about to hit the road for the Detroit Jazz Festival, four days of free music outdoors along the river, the big Great Lakes ore boats steaming by as the bands play. That’s not possible now, any more than a football game up the road in Ann Arbor. But the festival is going virtual, the music will be great, and we’ll be watching with some homemade barbecue and a little hometown beer.
I’m already looking forward to it as I sit on the porch, watching the bluebirds and the cardinals chase each other around the yard. I don’t see any dragonflies just now, but they’ll be back in better times. I hear there’s a sunset this evening too, and probably another one tomorrow. Take care and be safe.