Write Away and #Springnaturediary: What a difference a year makes
Last year I took part in the first #springnaturediary, an Arts and Humanities Research Council project which is also taking contributions this year. I'm chuffed last year's diary made the final cut and can be read as part of an illustrated booklet.
Now the world has changed for us all and it's useful to mark these strange times with another entry for this year's diary. Read on and you'll see everything has changed for me in another significant way. NAH had a heart attack on our wedding anniversary in early March and against the background of the looming Coronavirus pandemic - declared as such the day after on my birthday - I wanted to record a moment in our increasingly shrinking world.
Thankfully NAH's home now and started on the slow road to recovery. It was obvious the hospital was beginning to make preparations for the pandemic whilst he was there. All that can't be squeezed into a 150 word entry which focuses on the vernal equinox, but there is a snippet which forms a clear memory of that time and day. Sadly I don't have a photo of the huge picture window which was by NAH's bedside. It filled the entire view and was an amazing window on the outside world, and we learned later it was also one where everyone could see in! Instead I've chosen some views from our garden taken on the same day before I brought NAH home.
#springnaturediary 2020...
What a difference a year makes.
Today I'm viewing spring through a huge goldfish bowl of a window, waiting for my husband's discharge from Bristol's Heart Institute. He's been here ten days and even nature-adverse he appreciates the sight of a thin ribbon of greenery along the public footpath, instead of the dull concrete view throughout most of the hospital.
Today the daffodils are dancing in the hazy sunshine slanting through the trees. They're a welcome sight after what seems like six months of unrelenting rain. Glancing up the cobbled hill we notice there's a faint fuzz of green. It's stronger where it lines the road, with a fainter central path tracing between the shiny tramlines worn by passing cars.
Today it serves as a reminder in these uncertain times that nature is stronger than we are. It lies curled in readiness to pounce and recapture what we've conquered and paved, given half a chance.
Have you noticed how much clearer the air is since nearly all the planes stopped and most of of the country came home to work?
The birdsong seems louder and sweeter too.