I took this picture a few days ago while going for a short walk. I suppose I would certainly have preferred being at Fordham during this week rather than at home in Quincy, Massachusetts. But everything happens for a reason. I was very glad to go to NYC for school and to study abroad in Buenos Aires. I broadened my horizons and got to see beauty outside of my home town. There's beauty everywhere, though, as I reflected in my previous article. I'm glad I get to experience spring in Quincy, something I haven't seen for a few years. This year I also get to experience spring in Newton, MA, since my brother now has an apartment there and I've been spending some time there as well as in Quincy. This is, actually, my first spring since 2018, since during this time of year last year I was in Argentina, where it was fall. The world is a strange and marvelous place.

Since it's Holy Week (and Good Friday at that), I'd like to reflect on spiritual beauty: Beauty, I suppose. I suppose thinking about that is one of the roles of a poet, and I suppose reflecting it is a chief duty of a church choir, and I've loved singing in Fordham's since I was a freshman. I've been lucky enough to not be personally affected (or afflicted) by the coronavirus; I keep hearing about cases about death tolls, but no one in my family or among my close friends has gotten it. If what most captures my attention at the moment about COVID-19 is wondering how the memory of this weird time will affect my writing and its zeitgeist, then I suppose I'm very privileged.

The Good Friday liturgy is at once tremendously beautiful and tremendously depressing. It's officially termed the "celebration" of the Passion, but it certainly doesn't feel festive. Easter, though, invariably feels festive. I wonder how it will feel this year. I hope, however, that my own small-mindedness won't prevent me from sensing beauty in the midst of all this strangeness.