A hairy man stand-in a dense forest listening for prey. The berries have been good this year but winter is fast approaching. The tools he has honed from stone and wood are sharper and better this year. He hears a grunt in the distance and the lone wolf, that has been following him for months, has heard the sound too.
Solitude stalks us today, in the cities, towns and villages and the far flung strands of habitation throughout the world. Now we prowl around each other, like the wolf. Don’t go near, don’t touch or talk, we may spread infection.
For us, the lucky few with gardens, we see space and colour, birds and a china blue sky. The blackbirds still sing, flowers smell like honey and blossoms fall like paper and the little dog follows on.
Telephones buzz on the wires and online hunchbacks twiddle and swear. Children’s voices from the playground, their mates not there, empty tables, empty chairs. A solitary bus chugs vacantly up the hill and a single plane sweeps the sky. We weed, we plant, we watch the seasons change as life goes by.