Potter about

Since the last government’s offering – Lockdown 3, I think, a few things have happened.

We had FROST! Actual frost, that created beautiful images on car windows and bonnets. For one excited morning we all shared photos of our winter art. The social media exploded with frozen celebration. Then the temperatures realised that this is England and we don’t deserve winter. It got mild again. And wet. Every time a Czech friend shared yet another snowy view from the Beskydy mountain range, I wept for the fairytale feeling. In the end I stopped looking; I morosely considered pulling the plug on social media. If you have nothing to cheer me up with, shut up, I thought.

Then the Covid vaccination centre opened and as a volunteer I spent a few glorious hours talking to elderly people shaking with nerves before having their jab. The highlight of my social calendar! Seeing so many people and actually being able to interact with them (despite their masks, my mask, the distance and also my official status confirmed by a hi-viz tabbard) put a spring in my step. There is life out there after all!

Suddenly I was full of ideas for my next writing adventure (my last and so far only book is now about 10 years old) but not particular plot to start with. My fingers were itching, I stared at my computer for long minutes before turning it off and going to read someone else’s work. It would come, I was sure. Worry, dear reader, I will update you in due course.

I am sure that I am not alone in this restless, fidgety headspace, after months and months of stalemate. We have stayed at home. We only work when we are allowed. We don’t see friends or family except for the 2-D versions on our screens.

But the spring is slowly creeping in; you can hear it in the excited song of a garden bird; you can smell it when the rain passes; the sun puts in appearance earlier in the mornings and stays longer. Every day, when we prune in the vineyard, we realise that we are in a time race – we need to finish before the buds swell up and burst. We prune like demons in drizzle and up to our ankles in puddles.

Soon, friends, soon this stalemate will end, I am sure of it. The doors will open and we will be outside once more. In the meantime, settle your restless heart and potter about a little.

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