The cherry blossoms in the park seem to be blooming and falling at the same time. Does this always happen? Or are they in sympathy with the world?
The daffodils have over run the place, oblivious to the pause.
I notice things about my daughters. They are not new things, exactly, but I have more time to notice them.
They have daily ideas to send in to Blue Peter including a lake (which they believe they are building) in the stones at the front of the house. Imogen has 3 recipes lined up to bake.
There is loss, great sadness for people I know. Coronavirus takes, lockdown exacerbates.
People are ready for this to end now. We scan the news, looking for clues. We just don’t know.
It’s been raining, making some things harder, others not. We go for a walk, get soaked to our skin. Six times my daughter declares it to be the best day ever.
It’s the weekend, again, and we try to treat it as such. “What do you want to do today?”, we joke. We will find something, I hope. The same things, slightly different things. We will go for a walk and play a game and wish we could go to Nana’s. The girls will say something hilarious and I will be grumpy by bedtime.
There is opportunity, here, and there is struggle. There are cherry blossom, dancing in the wind.