A word of hope, and caution

Good Friday gave us a glorious glimpse of what lies ahead.

The grass is greening. Buds are at the bursting point, and gazing up at those little bundles of promise, you remember that few things can take your breath away faster than the sight of blue skies draped over North Idaho mountains.

Just hours later, a meteorological downshift reminded us that April sometimes can’t make up her mind, that for every summer tease there’ll be a grayer, colder scale balancer. But you know that warm and green and blue is going to win because it does every single year.

It’s a metaphor for the back door once this pandemic, like a winter that lasts too long and steals too much emotional capital, is finally over. Who can imagine the relief then? The joy? The feeling of resurrection, of renewal, of optimism wafting like a May kite when normal becomes perfectly extraordinary?

On Friday, it was easy to think the worst is over, and maybe it is. But maybe it isn’t.

Until there’s a broadly applied vaccine, the vanquished beast might just be hiding.

Let’s be smart. Take little victories when we can, where it makes sense.

Maybe next Easter, the sun can come out for good.