Coronavirus, Remember, 22.

22 and End. "RENAISSANCE" Friday April 17, 2020. A blue cotton bedspread to sew on. Ten beige curtains for ironing. A box of backgammon to cover with almond green leatherette. Here's what I left behind during the brutal March 17th shutdown a month ago. Domestic objects deposited with artisans - the seamstress, the dyer, the shoemaker - which the brutal vitrification of all activity and the disappearance of humans in their burrows prevented me from recovering. As I walked the dog yesterday, as I have been doing for thirty days, morning and evening, on the esplanade overlooking the misty city in the distance, stubbornly silent, I felt a tremor: the joint hum of several car engines, two voice intersecting in conversation, a child's laughter. Forbidden from the beginnings of a rebirth, I then thought of the world after, of this world which like a blaze of dry wood would ignite and crackle, whose saving and purifying flame would rise to the sky! Life " ! The "life" that we had forgotten until the slightest noise. Forbidden from these beginnings, I then wanted to take advantage, like those hours of the morning stolen from too busy days, I wanted to take advantage of this world of now, which soon would be the world of yesterday, convinced that without transition, without call, without warning, in the same way she had hidden herself to last, life was going to explode like fireworks in its indescribable disorder. I know we forget. We forget the tragedies and the misfortunes, the terrors and the nightmares, we forget - it is the characteristic of man to forget in a permanent and saving amnesia. I knew that we would quickly forget those silent days when everyone was withdrawn, some separated from the loved one, in attentive listening, noises that would not come, in a painful learning of the atoms of silence - compensated by the cacophony of 8:00 p.m., where bruised humans tamed their terror. Yesterday, with the clarity of a drawing, in this vacant exterior, two voices exchanged. What will remain of our collective adventure? What kind of wound will we all have, that same human wound to recognize and differentiate ourselves from the beasts?

This collective adventure has hurt our soul and it will take a lot of beauty and a lot of love to heal it.

With the "coronavirus diary from 1 to 22" we walked together, day after day, trying to compose an inventory. Death in nursing homes, the mask shortage, super cruise ships, the Wuhan live animal market, the Wuhan virology laboratory and a thousand other themes were shared.

Today we are starting a new chapter. Now is the time to learn the lessons.

Thank you for your reading, your likes, your hearts and your shares, and good luck.

The "Coronavirus Diary 1 to 22" is available on facebook or on the author's blog.

http://theresefournier.fr/blog

The illustrations are by Juanjo Surace.