I started writing this on the morning of 5th November.
Life took over with challenges in my professional role: in the 10 days that have passed, I dealt with an individual battling the burden of having taken a life, and another whose mind is a dark place of despair, with its own frail reality and fear of the world around them.
The pandemic’s insidious journey is unrelenting.
As the clock struck midnight into a new day, a new lockdown began.
It was silent in my courtyard.
Carriages became pumpkins, and an urban fox – wild, resilient, wise – sat for a moment and then was gone.
Did it see me at the window?
The next morning, for the first time in weeks, after a flurry of work emails, I found myself with a little window of quiet time.
Fog was hanging over the streets outside, and I stepped away from the view, cup of coffee in hand, seeking clarity.
Lockdown 2.0 is eerily familiar.
This time there is solace in the knowledge that my daytime normal, evolved and evolving, has permitted a continuity that was previously lacking.
In the race to protect ourselves and others from callous Covid, isolation has lost its splendour.
The unlocking of communication pathways has never been more important than at this time, and I find myself constantly evaluating the relationship between value and values.
Later that week I caught up with an old friend; we had allowed time and circumstances to block what was previously a free flowing gateway and now we cleared a path once more and like Mary in The Secret Garden uncovered the door handle from under the overgrown ivy.
Doors are an obvious metaphor.
We talk about our door being open to someone in need or decisions taken behind closed doors.
A way forward or a barrier.
Letting in or letting go.
A knock becomes a faceless sound and we forgo possibility.
Sometimes we need to venture out: the call of the heart, even if on some interpretation viewed as irrational, should be followed without judgement and access allowed through a door left ajar…