I woke up cocooned in comforters and the weight of a large black labrador this morning.
I could already hear the traffic from I-15. Cars and trucks going north and south and east and west. Enough to make all the noise that cars and trucks make on a Monday morning to allow you to know that life is moving faster than you want it to move and that business is happening and that soon the clear blue skies will be filled with smog again.
We could see the mountains across the valley and marvelled that we could also see the Great Salt Lake. That was our prize for sheltering in place. For staying at home. For not visiting our friends and for making sure there were six feet between me and between you. For not driving all the cars. For walks with the dogs. For checking on our neighbors. For eating dinner at home and getting to know our families as the humans that they happen to actually be.
Today, though, the code color is yellow and yellow means go in our part of the world.
Back to work, back to school, back to the playgrounds and the gyms and the pools and the office and the restaurants and the hair salons and the sporting events.
Back instead of forward. BACK. We are going back when we had so many chances to go anywhere else.
Smog is going to envelop us and our lungs will get heavy with coughs and we'll wonder is it the virus or is it bad air? Have we ever really cared?
We won't be able to tell the difference as we sit on patios and eat our pizza and drink our beer and toast that we won the god damn war!
Won.
Did we? Did you?
We only win if we're still alive.
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