The question, When will I see you again? becomes a doxology of sorts when the lighting of candles is added to each rise and fall of praise and of mourning. Assemblies gather before deadlines delayed again by postponed weather arrangements conveniently called out by experts in front of green screens. Story and science blur into one myth before the altar of truth in the long history of human beings once again having a difficult and dangerous time. People cheer the completion of first drafts with no sense for or need of resolution that might be recorded in the shining annals of the impromptu history of humankind.