In April 2020, we invited writers in Quebec to submit a story of a single day during the strange, uneasy time of coronavirus and pandemic, of social distancing and self isolation, of lockdown and quarantine.
We’re thrilled to announce that these stories have been gathered in Chronicling the Days: Dispatches from a Pandemic (Guernica Press). To learn more and buy the book, please visit https://www.guernicaeditions.com/title/9781771836579.
Please also join us on the QWF FB Community page, and let the authors know if their words resonated.
This piece is by Lis McLoughlin, writing on April 11, 2020.
As I write the moon is shining brightly. For the last two mornings, predawn, the sky has been clear and the moon illuminates clouds that quickly pass, as if in the day. So odd to see these extraordinary night-time clouds acting exactly the same as mundane day-time ones. Somehow I anticipate a certain amount of furtiveness, but no, they sail quietly, dignified and white as their normal daytime selves. Which then strikes me as eerie; the boldness of them to stalk across the dark sky open to the stars, the universe, not waiting for Earth’s atmosphere to turn opaque in the sun, to enclose them in a softly sheltering backdrop of blue or grey.
To read the rest of the story, please support our community and check out Chronicling the Days: Dispatches from a Pandemic