A Crying Place 1

I’ve been walking close to home, to a new crying place. At home, my world is lived through a screen. Social media floods with videos of happy families singing together, communities getting together on conference platforms and reading poetry, doing yoga, discussing gardening. Here, next to the river, there are soothing sounds of birds, smells of grass. There is a swing on a tree facing the river, with a railway behind it. Occasionally, I am reminded of those still moving around in the world, when trains go ‘boop boop’, or a rare transatlantic plane passes above, leaving its chalky mark in the blue sky above.

The birdsong is magical.

It is a strange time, corona time. We are challenged by having both everything to do, and nothing to do, both at the same time.

I swing. I film.

This place grounds me, the Severn is both my muse and anchor. With its open views and wildlife, washed up branches and quiet corners to lie down in and gaze at the sky. I am gathering a series of texts, photographs and films – maybe I’ll add some drawings when it gets warmer……summer stretches ahead……

Sitting on the crooked wooden seat, I am in my happy place. I think about how special this world is, how good it is to be alive. I am here, unseen, alone and coping (just).

Dennis Potter spoke of the blossomest blossom – I get that, I really do..