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Coronavirus Days--Week 50

Some days it does feel like a half century. 50. Every number is a magic number that says halfway to somewhere. Close to the end. So many.  Week 50 is close to the end of one year.  Week 50 felt like the photo. And it wasn't the first time that a week could be accompanied by this picture. I walked and didn't notice anything new. No funny conversations to overhear. No interesting observations to put down for future writing fodder. Nothing that got creative juices oozing. It took me most of the week to figure out how to fill up, and in truth, I'm not filled up. Inspiration stays low. Because each week promises predictable days, like those from the week before. But sometimes, there's an unexpected break when it snows midweek, and I wake to an unpredictable 14 inch blanket of quiet, and I have nowhere to go. I am happy for that space.  I only missed one day of walking because of the snow. A quick storm.  Some days, like today, I think in fragments. Short bursts.  Some things

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