Moments of Now.

We're now in the sixth week of UK lockdown. In my crazy house, with my husband, 3 (almost) teenagers and 2 student lodgers, there have been some lovely moments and some really tough ones.

My mothering instinct has meant that I have wanted to make everything okay for everyone all the time, but that was never going to be possible. Everyone has different perceptions of this "space" we've been given and different ways of reacting to it. But more than that, we've needed to recognise that those perceptions and reactions vary for each one of us from day to day, and moment to moment. Trying to predict how we will feel tomorrow is impossible.

My eldest son and I have had many conversations about how different time feels now, and how we're both feeling about the different days and moments we find ourselves living in. This poem grew out of one of those conversations.

In this interlude
between what was and what will be
time takes on a different shape,
The linear progression of days halts
and we find ourselves here
living in the unpredictable moments of now.

Moments where time slows
to a leisurely amble in the sunshine
and we joyfully embrace this new rhythm,
Hear the music formed by the inclusion of the silent rest,
Wander in deserted spaces,
Blow dandelion clocks to check the time.
Our world is at a standstill,
and creation breathes.

But there are other moments
when there is no respite from the timelessness,
and our breathing space becomes a suffocating vacuum,
We strive to fill the hiatus with activity,
surround ourselves with a sea of distant faces,
familiar but barely connected.
Our world is unrecognisable
and creation weeps.

Pausing in the gap
between the breathing and the weeping
we glimpse the promise of tomorrow,
recognise that all moments pass
and we need not fear
accepting the unpredictable moments of now.

Daisy

Spring is my favourite time of year - buds appear on the trees and flowers start to bloom. My children think I am a little crazy, but I especially look foward to the daisies appearing in the grass. I find a lot of joy in making a daisy chain. It's a fleeting work of art, as the daisies wilt so quickly. But perhaps that's part of the joy - realising that nothing lasts for ever.

Today I made a daisy chain, and wrote a light-hearted little piece for your amusement.

Whatever you're thinking or feeling in the midst of this coronavirus pandemic, remember this: it won't last forever.

Daisy, Daisy, I weave a chain or two,

sitting in the sunshine

two metres away from you.

It won't be a normal springtime,

going out is now a crime.

But we’ll be safe,

if we have faith,

stay home, and wash our hands too!

In between

About six weeks ago I started to write a poem. The week had started with a couple of days where I had stayed at work late and found myself cycling home as dusk was falling. I remember noticing the amazing quality of the light and sound of birdsong around me... but it was cold, as February often is, and as the lights in the surrounding houses turned on one by one, I found myself choosing to rush home to my own electric brightness rather than stop and fully take in the natural light and birdsong.

However, on the Friday evening I found myself walking the dog at dusk around the lake in our local park, and I became aware of some bats that were flying from tree to tree. This time I stopped, and I watched the bats for some time. It was magical, and I began to think about the wealth of life that we overlook by rushing from one thing to another and not appreciating the in between spaces in our lives.

Ironically I didn't finish writing my poem in February as I was too busy rushing about from one thing to another.

But today, I found space and decided to finish writing the poem.

The world is a totally different place today compared to six weeks ago. The words I wrote back then seem to have a different meaning now, in the middle of the COVID19 lockdown. But I wonder if maybe they were always meant for now.

In between my waking and my sleeping
the day lies open
offering me everything or nothing;
a wealth of possibilities,
and a gaping void.

In between daylight and dark
dusk falls.
Through the gathering gloom
I journey homeward;
flickering lights
call me to safety.

But in the darkness
I pause.
And recognise the invitation
to step
into this unknown,
this in between space.

In between activity and stillness,
there is a different life.
In between the traffic roar and silence,
birds sing a twilight melody.
In between sight and blindness,
bats dance with freedom.

In between my waking and my sleeping
I pause,
recognise the invitation
to embrace
this different life,
this in between space.