Odd times

Seeds in pots. Photograph by Hannah Foley. All rights reserved. www.hannah-foley.co.uk

Well, these are odd times indeed, aren’t they? I have had my nursing hat on over the last three days, operating under a cloud of contingency planning and training, while running around to make up for the absence of self-isolating colleagues. It was strange to walk out of the office yesterday evening and see life going on as usual. My head was so full of the what-if demands that may be made on clinical staff over the coming weeks, that I half expected the streets to be empty as if we were already in quarantine.

Big Dreamer and I have tried to plan as well as we can, thinking how we can provide childcare while releasing each of us, and particularly me, to remain in our frontline roles. An author event which I was due to do at a nearby library on Saturday has been postponed. We have cancelled Little Owl’s birthday tea at a local restaurant next week, thinking we will buy vouchers from them to use later in the year, or how else are these businesses to survive? I feel as though I have woken up in a dystopian YA novel, yet outside the clematis by the backdoor is sending vigorous shoots skyward and my potatoes are almost ready to go into the ground. The children helped me sow tomato and sweet pea seeds in pots on the windowsill. There was something soothing about methodically filling the pots with warm earth and covering the seeds over. Someone posted this on Twitter today and it was just what I needed, so maybe it will be what you need too… 

With thanks to Mike Philpot for posting this on poem on Twitter. Wendall Berry. The Peace of Wild Things.
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