Faint-hearted

They were bright red twenty-eight months ago.

In the weeks following the advent of the pandemic, red hearts appeared everywhere:  pinned up in windows, dangling from tree branches, painted and stencilled on the sidewalks.
 

It's now the third Labour Day weekend of the pandemic.

Things seem to have eased.  

There is music floating and bumping into buildings from concerts in the park.  At the coffee shop, few people wear masks.

 

Some glance at me sidelong. I still wear a mask in indoor shared spaces. I am, after all, still dropping in on my mother to set up her meals, and do her laundry, and the RFB, who had COVID a few weeks ago, will be attempting to get minor surgery done this week. It's been postponed twice. 

All a little too much to inscribe on a tee-shirt, so I try to smile with my eyes, not wishing to pin my heart on my sleeve.