This post is part of #The100DayProject, started a little early this year in light of current events. My project is simply to write, every day, something, and to share it here.
I went for a walk yesterday. This marked my first step out the house in 72 hours. I was sure to maintain at least 3m between me and any passers by. I went to the biggest park within reasonable distance. It felt blissful.
The sun beat down on me; daffodils withstood the strong gusts of warm Spring air. Two rowers glided by. It felt like the world had been fitted with a skeleton public, fit for purpose but not for more.
I felt reflective. Isn’t it a shame that most of the world will miss this this year? Spring is always the most fleeting season. We all fail to savour it until its final days when we reflect upon its glory mournfully. For those cooped up in city flat blocks, we can’t even step outside for the morning cuppa and bask in the splendour of a garden in bloom.
And of course, Spring won’t wait, not for any virus or monumental shift in the way our society works. The sun will rise, flowers will bloom, cherry blossom will float. The fact so much had brightened since my last outing proved this. As I walked, I couldn’t ignore the fact that this season, and maybe even the next, will pass us by.
So I paused, just to relish in it for a second.
And then, a bird shat on me.
Just in case I hadn’t got the message that in times of crisis, nature persists.