The window next to my desk looks out on the western side of the city. From here, I can see the Golden Gate Bridge and the headlands beyond it, the hills of Pacific Heights, with the green hump of Lafayette Park rising up over the crust of buildings, and our street sloping up in the distance. Vehicles on that road have been infrequent this week, and almost always either city buses or delivery vans.

What started as a gray, misty day has turned to blue skies and sun.

If life were normal, I would right now be wrapping up my writing and getting ready to go into my job at the library. I would be looking out at that day and preparing to plunge into it, deciding on a light shirt and a sun hat, working out whether I’d pick up rice balls for lunch at the office or a Vietnamese sandwich. I would be thinking about setting up the sound for tonight’s event, and the platforms, and working out the logistics letter for next week’s event. I would be planning to see, meet, talk to many people.

But there will be no event tonight, and the office that’s been my second home for over seventeen years is empty, and a half-hour’s walk away. Which now seems very long.