There were no foiled plots today, no shocking revelations or newly infected politicians or footage of horrifying violence. Just another hurricane in the Gulf and a continuing rise in coronavirus cases. But these calamities are becoming familiar, and it almost felt like a slow news day, aside from the president’s usual braying and bullshit. I fantasize about the day this man’s face no longer lives in my head, a time when I can return to forgetting about the president for a few hours.
This afternoon C. and I rode the train to Green-Wood Cemetery, where we’re planning a project in its beautiful Gothic chapel that was designed by the architects who built Grand Central Station. We switched off the chandelier and watched the pools of stained glass light that glittered on the limestone floor. For a moment, I felt as if I was standing outside of time. Because it was such a rare quality these days: silence.
