Icon: “Nighthawks in the Age of Coronavirus”

Letter from Manhattan
This morning, bells chime for Sunday service at the church inconspicuously tucked between beige, brick,  post-war apartment towers around the corner from mine.  I’ve thrown my window open to let in the cool city air after a week of sheltering in place.  The bells surely ring every Sunday, but they normally blur into the rushing urban soundscape.  This morning, though, they call out over a quiet city and reassure us that we’re still a town, a community.

Icon: “Nighthawks in the Age of Coronavirus”
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