Corvid and COVID

This is not the crow.

I've just crossed the quiet street in the early morning, on my usual way to the coffee shop, when I feel a light tap to the back of my head, on the right side. Looking around in bewilderment, I spot a crow on my left, standing quietly on the sidewalk, beady eyes fixed on me.

Oh dear.

The last spring this kind of thing happened, two or three years ago, the crows were aggressive for a chunk of the summer.

Two or three years ago - it was three, actually - the Resident Fan Boy caught COVID.

From the Resident Fan Boy, Friday morning

I guess these things go in cycles.

You'd better be home soon

Elder daughter is joining us for Christmas in a week. We haven't seen her in person in 430 days. 

As the time draws nearer, complications from the emergence of the Omicron variation have made things more nerve-wracking. 

First, in addition to the stringent testing and documentation of same that must be made before leaving the UK, elder daughter is now required to re-test on her arrival in Vancouver airport, before going on to Victoria to isolate for at least 24 hours, or until the test results are known. Our fond parental dreams of welcoming hugs are on hold. 

Today, new restrictions were announced in Britain, most taking effect next Monday. Ironically, they re-instate precautions that were never really discontinued here in British Columbia, where we are required to mask in shared common spaces and on transit, and show proof of vaccinations at non-essential venues, such as theatres, cinemas, and restaurants. 

I've written about this song before, it seems, like much good art, to shift and illuminate many situations over the years. It's sung here by an international choir of health care workers.