30th March 2020
Will and I find ourselves in the car driving up Mont Rigaud again. This time we’re not alone. Just barely visible in the fog ahead are Noam and Anthony. They’re searching for quiet country roads to drive through and Will’s hoping to snag some good photos. If he gets it right, the fog will certainly add mood to the shots.
The number of virus cases here in Quebec has neared or surpassed 3000. The official website is slow to update and news sources are a day old—except for the few published half-hour ago concerning the governments take on choosing who will live and who won’t. It’s speculation at the moment, options that will be reviewed come the live announcements later today. But I’m not interested in waiting for the news or diving deep into the Mad Hatter’s hat of media. It’ll just spike the anxiousness and feeling of hopelessness brewing in my gut.
To be honest, I’ve grown irritated. My mind and body crave the challenge of a good hike, and a need to do something more meaningful than cooking and watching T.V.. I can feel my mind pacing within itself. But the writing is not coming as easily as it usually does. Probably to be expected when all you really want is fresh air and to stop starring at the same four white walls.
Right now, we’re out in a farm field somewhere. I haven’t been paying attention to the road signs since we’ve left the mountain. The light drizzle of rain sneaks in through the cracked window and it’s the only solace I’ve found in a while. Nearby a flock of geese search through mud puddles for grub, unbothered by the drizzle. Will and Anthony are out on the mud road, keeping the recommended distance between them as they snap shots of themselves and their cars. Up the road by a set of tracks, Noam encourages a conductor of a small freight train to blow his horn as he chugs by.
He does.
We all wave in gratitude.
