Dear Yuri,
I’m very lucky to look out at a park, where the leaves on an oak tree 20ft from our bedroom window have been getting bigger, greener and brighter every morning. As dusk descends they look more sinister. When I checked just now, at 8.30pm, they were a pile of giant hands, twitching, as a crow bundled his way awkwardly through the branches. Presumably he was making his way to his nest, or maybe he was attacking a smaller bird.
We’re in the middle of South Bristol, not so far from the normally-congested A4. No early commuters wake us up at the moment, however, just a chorus of birdsong. I’ve been awake pretty much since 5am. I heard on the radio yesterday that swallows were arriving back from South Africa. No idea what they sound like, but I’d like to think this morning’s wake up call was them. Charlie and I joked over cups of tea with Jaffa Cakes that that they were having a welcome home party.
Quite frankly, were it not for all the distress caused elsewhere and worrying about loved ones, I really could get used to this brief pause. There is a recovered sense of community. Neighbours are talking for the first time, making laundry bags for NHS workers via a WhatsApp group. Work is a bit calmer than normal and I’m eating better, exercising more.
I do wish I was able to take Pauline to see her son Martin in hospital. And I do wish I could give me mum a hug and have beers and laughs in the sun with mates. But I know I am one of the very fortunate ones so far. As this goes on, the least I can do is stay appreciative, especially of nature. It’s been amazing to see spring get its skates on as humans finally stand still.