Suddenly the internet is teeming with sewing patterns, and everyone is hunting through their closets for an old cotton or poplin shirt that might be cut and sewn into face masks. The most common model is one that starts with a rectangle you fold in half then pleat and pleat again in small sections; two garter straps or pony tail holders are added for fastening around each ear. Another has a seam running down the middle. The fabric's cut so it forms a slight peak in front, reminiscent of plague doctors' bird-beak masks in the 1300s. Like death's acolytes they glided through streets infested with bubonic plague—aroma of ambergris or mint, lavender and herbs stuffed into the protrusion, for tempering the stench of rotting bodies piled in churchyards. Nose, mouth, and chin are covered; and the eyes? The eyes, not hard to read above the mask-edge as now, when we venture out to get medicine or food: the eyes, blurring with the hurt, the hope, the effort to hold the breath then just breathe.