Spring is here. So is the end of the pandemic. Almost.
By Alex Kingsbury
Mr. Kingsbury is a member of the editorial board.
It’s spring, when a young man’s fancy lightly turns to thoughts of life without a killer virus.
I caught a glimpse of that life last week. A glint, really. Along the edge of Central Park, as the temperature stretched mightily toward 70, the sunlight reflected off a twirling bit of stainless steel flying through the air.
Down on the lawn, a man in workout clothes was juggling cocktail shakers.
Up. Down. Balanced on an elbow. Dropped on the grass. Tossed skyward again, like an outtake from “Cocktail,” if Tom Cruise wore an N95 mask and everyone had to stand six feet apart.
This spring, a return to normal life is envisionable. It hangs in the air like a tossed shaker. With every jab of the needle and push of the plunger, it becomes a little more real.
This week, 80 percent of adults in New York State are eligible to be vaccinated. There are still lines for testing, even as a quarter of all New Yorkers have gotten at least one shot.
A year ago, I started a diary. Now it’s more than 17,000 words. It didn’t take many entries for them to turn dark.
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