Wooden Ships sailing,
Mind's eye brings them into view,
Rosewood, Cherry, Birch and Ebony,
From tiptoe I can touch their edges,
Your joins are nearly impeccable.
In the hallway of my childhood home,
hung a small marquetry picture
made by an uncle,
whilst convalescing from TB
in a sanitarium,
In the fifties.
🍃
I saw a faded rainbow the other day,
Painted on a peeling wooden gate,
looking beyond it,
Up the path to the house,
I wondered at their fate.
And where did those rainbows come from,
Appearing in windows,
Whose idea was it to link
The symbol,
Children and the NHS,
Sending out a sign that
We're all in this together,
That one day the storm will pass,
And we'll be able to walk free
And are we walking free now;
So much has changed,
Dark clouds are building
all along the edge of our horizon.
We're still looking for rainbows.
🍃
Writing in retrospect is so very different to writing in the moment.
The distance of time affords a change in perspective.
The immediacy of writing in the now can allow the truth of emotions to speak.
But I didn't speak the depth of my emotions in the midst of the pandemic,
I held my breath and prayed.
I enjoyed the quiet of it.
No planes.
Not many cars.
The absence of sirens.
A tranquility born of necessity but,
I hoped,
And many others hoped,
Now,
After this,
Change will surely come.
Such a momentous time,
Surely our priorities would become clear,
And they would be for the good of all,
Including our planet home.
We lived in hope.
Rainbow's end would reveal a golden prize;
Shared vision,
Wealth for all.
🌈
During the pandemic - 1st case late 2019, 1st lockdown in the UK mid March 2020, restrictions lifted, August 2012, - anxiety, naturally, ran very high amongst us all but maybe not the few who consistently denied its severity or significance. They were more angry about the global response which they considered hysterical and more damaging than the virus itself.
I can remember feeling very sobered by the knowledge that the whole world was united in suffering and anxiety. Even if you thought the virus was ' just another version of the flu ' the global response and conflicting opinions on how to manage and mitigate the effects of it caused a different kind of anxiety I imagine.
The pace of life slowed as movement and activity was restricted,
It felt like living underwater,
Everything was arduous,
Painstaking care had to be taken with everything.
The notion of kindness arose.
This meaning consideration for the well-being of others
as well as one's own.
This was good.
But
It heightened one's awareness to the point of fear
and imbued everything with a sense of trepidation
How to live
For many of us, sleep was no longer as restful as
it might have been.
And sadly, this remains the case it seems.
🍃
My memory, never accurate and riven with holes,
When searched for the beginning of our Covid tyrant,
reminds me of the coach-loads of teenagers and their teachers,
returning from the skiing trip in Italy and putting themselves into voluntary isolation because someone had symptoms. ?
You having got a job at the college next door, was not, I don't think, unduly worried. It seemed they had been careful, and you carried on, but carefully, yourself, until, one day, after working closely with students in a classroom, ( who I don't think were much in the habit of wearing masks at that point ), you felt poorly.
How we followed the instructions to the letter.
You, imprisoned in your room,
It felt archaic as we left food and drink for you outside your door, wore gloves along with a mask to remove the tray and wiped it with the dreaded anti-bac wipes which surely must form the core of land-fill now.
At least you had your beloved cat for company. Your shadow. He stayed with you throughout.
I couldn't let you rest for worrying about you. Every hour I texted you to ask how you were feeling. Somehow, I was afraid for you to sleep, feeling that you would drift away from us
Are you drinking ? I would nag.
How's your headache ? I pestered.
Are you hot ?
I repeated the same questions again and again and you were so patient. A really patient patient.
How can it feel right to not be with you, feel your head, look at your eyes to see how you are, when you, my youngest child, are poorly.
Even when we spoke on the phone, which was rarely, I felt I missed so much from not seeing you.
Looking back now, I wish we'd set up a zoom earlier,
but perhaps you were too tired, too ill.
It may have felt too intrusive.
And I think you hid how bad you were feeling, just like when you were very little and hated fuss, refusing to take Calpol, being very quiet until you might get up and calmly walk to the toilet to be quietly sick.
In the night I would listen for your cough, look at my phone,
open the bedroom door quietly to ensure the little sound I thought I'd heard wasn't you stumbling downstairs to seek assistance.
Our stoical daughter, keeping us safe from harm.
So glad you were with us during this terrible time.
Reading and listening to harrowing accounts of people separated from their loved ones fills me with horror at what our experience might have been and though you have suffered such terrible, debilitating side-effects; the distortion of taste, overwhelming fatigue and body aches, you did recover, you ploughed on through it all, seeking help, returning to work, going out, forcing yourself to try to live your life, despite and because and eventually, to, with hope and grace, enjoy it.
Some liken your generation to the young people in the War, because, although you haven't suffered the extreme horrors of violence and deprivation ( well, hopefully, not many of you ), your lives and psyches have been deeply affected by the years interrupted by the pandemic in ways that will no doubt only be understood and recognised with the insight that comes through the passage of time.
We can only hope you are strengthened in more ways than damaged and us oldies must try to play our small part in trying to make the world a better place for you and our future generations to live in.
🌞
