Life has a hard edge, doesn’t it? Sometimes, no matter which way we turn, it’s impossible get comfortable. Even the simple escape of sleep is laced with fears and challenging obstacles. Who hasn’t woken in the wee hours with the troubles of the day playing in a loop, usually to some random tune? What someone once described to me as having the “washing machine head”.
The news should be avoided at all costs, but we’ve evolved into a species that has to know. We’ve long passed the point of accepting those things we can’t change. We get the facts, do our best to verify them (sometimes), stew in them for a bit and hand them on, usually through social media. Like some weird and twisted relay race, the baton of breaking news moves from hand to hand, at great speed, and there’s never a finishing line in sight.
About a week ago Mags and I went for one of regular walks. The air was ringing with birdsong, the sun was on our shoulders, and the air was fresh. In the hedgerow a tiny blue butterfly moved woozily against the green. We had no idea what it was called, but it was a thing of beauty, and that was enough. A brief moment of delicate blue. A life as large as any other. A dancing purpose. A cushion against that hard edge.