It would be tax day.  Instead we have an extension for reasons unfathomable in my lifetime.

Steve and I continue living in the same house while doing our best to isolate from each other until he gets the results of the virus test.  Imagine if tests were available quickly for us all, but we as a country weren’t prepared.

We have a president who can’t and won’t accept responsibility.  Instead, he blames. He has now decided to withhold funds from the World Health Organization, who did identify and warn about the disease, and provided test kits the U.S. refused. Therefore, our response, thanks to our president, was delayed beyond that of other nations.

I’m trying to view this with equanimity but some days provide a higher tree to climb than others.

This morning my hand goes to a book of Japanese death poems.

I open the book to this one by Masumi Kato who died in 1825 at the age of sixty-four. It provides guidance for a day that with ripening spring offers light earlier and later each day.

The surface 

of the water mirrors

many things.

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