It had been almost six weeks since we left our Hell’s Kitchen sublet in NYC. Broadway had shut down, the university had gone remote, and the world as we knew it had changed forever.
It was a Friday night, as I sat nestled in my Adirondack chair, savoring every moment from my front row seat, awaiting the sunset over the Laurentians. It had become a nightly practice, and on the weekends, a festive ritual that I shared with my husband — the only person I have had any physical contact with…