My next-door neighbor remains dead from COVID, even now. The planet is getting quieter with each passing day. His car doesn’t leave for work or come home. The lawn mower doesn’t rev up. No leaf blowing at the property’s edge. His widow leads a quiet life. She comes and goes at ordinary times. No headlights piercing the dark as they did when he would leave for work so early and come home so late. His mother doesn’t stop over because she died of COVID too. His friends don’t stop by with their V8 pickup truck engines. Even the children stay away. Or maybe they’re sick. How would I know? I don’t. You don’t.
I know this: The hush grows louder, one lost soul at a time. And for those of us who are tuned to the sound of absence, it is both deafening and heartbreaking.