The light caught the trees outside of the parking deck just right this morning. Or, to be more accurately honor optics and the study of celestial mechanics: I timed it just right.
This will be one of the last days the parking deck will be empty this time of morning. People are filing back in and it’s just so fun to hear about all of these people being back to the office now.
I’ve been here since July*. Of 2020.
Not sure where they’ve all been.
But today there were enough people around that we all played that “I think I recognize you, but it’s been a while and, you know, the masks … ” game. We’ll do that for a few more days, I’m sure. Then we’ll all have a good sense of the different sorts of masks that we each favor.
Classes start next Monday. Welcome week events have taken place all this week. So much prep work has been done to start a, hopefully, successful and safe school year. The campus has sprung suddenly back to life, a jarring change from the last 16 months. There’s a lot of energy in everyone’s step, which is exciting to see.
At the end of the day I was ready for our weekly reading date in the back yard. Pull up a chair and enjoy the quiet and the shade and the … rain?
It sprinkled on us, for 23 minutes, under this sky.
I walked down the path because I could see the cloud above us was small. Something about being in a place where it’s raining one step to the left and not one step to the right seemed interesting. But the cloud was going that direction, too. And so, for a few moments, I felt a bit like Joe Btfsplk. I only know Al Capp’s work through reprints after he died, but there’s no getting around the legacy of a hugely popular 43-year run.
*I just went into the archives to confirm the date. It’s funny how many things we supposed in July of last year did and did not come to pass, like how much we’d be working from home, and that people would eventually figure out masks should cover the mouth and the nose. Joe Btfsplk, indeed.
