In these lengthening days it's easy to feel that we are past any danger. The idea of crowded hospital beds and makeshift isolation tents inside stadiums sounds like a bad fairy tale, until the angel of sickness walks across your threshold and sets down his luggage. When he hangs up a towel, sets a worn toothbrush on the sink. you know he's there to stay a little while longer. Even so, he is not the enemy. Without any special malice, he is only doing what's in his nature. But the enemy took ships across the water and returned with shackled bodies loaded in the hold. The enemy cracked a whip across the fields where our people bent over beds of garlic and strawberries. The enemy is a bullet that will take out your eye or stop your heart even when you've knelt on the ground as instructed. The enemy is a god unto himself. It shows no mercy but fears every dusky body running and playing in sunlight, numbers of them walking now with a single purpose across the land.