We’re out walking again. A daily stroll in the early morning sunshine. The lane has become a leafy tunnel in our absence, and the birdsong echoes and reverberates along its length as we step. It reminds me of the excited, musical whooping and whistling of children, each outcrying the other. Infant’s voices in the hollow of a cavern or the parabola of a stone arch.
Sensing the breeze on my face feels new, along with all it brings. The scents and sounds of a spring day bursting to get my attention. Out of the shade I shoulder the familiarity of the sun and carry it lightly. Warmth is never a burden.
It’s just an hour a day, but it fits neatly into our new world of distractions. Close the door on confinement and catch up with all that feels lost. Then, all too soon, we are banged up again. We have become our own wardens, and will remain so until certified fit for parole.
We pass our time easily and the boredom factor doesn’t get a look in. We’re still baking despite the fact that flour and yeast would seem to have taken on roughly the street value of premium drugs. It seems entirely plausible that, soon, procurement will only be possible via dealers who have stopped peddling toilet tissue in favour of raising agents.
I’ve read ‘Normal People’, by Sally Rooney. Getting hooked on the TV adaptation was inevitable. It’s so good, it’s only possible to sip at it, one short episode at a time. Likewise, ‘After Life’. I’m not generally a fan of Ricky Gervais, but the man deserves a heap of credit for both series.
Oh, and the soundtrack to ‘Normal People’ is superb, too. Perfect music for abnormal times.