I Don't Want To, But I Will

I don't want to distance from my friends

I don't want to wear a mask to the shops 

I don't want to go without hugs from family

I don't want to santise my hands all the time

I don't want my kids to miss out

I don't want to skip celebrating birthdays

I don't want to acquiesce 

But I will

I will do all this

And whatever else is asked of me

If it makes a difference 

If it speeds relief

Because there are greater things at stake 

Than my own wants and needs

And I won't use the failures of politicians 

To excuse my own behaviour 

Through this unimaginable ordeal

I will teach my kids about 

Endurance

Determination

Selflessness 

Courage

I will conquer my own fears

And soothe theirs

I will help them understand the value

Of the greater good

I will hold them extra tight

And love them extra hard

And when it is over 

We will know that we did all we could

Not for ourselves, but for each other

For those we love

And for the beautiful world around us

We will remember that we did it together 

That we strived and persevered

It wasn't easy; but we tried

And you? 

When it is over

When anguish gives way to clarity 

When the mist evaporates

And the clouded mirror

Reveals a crisp reflection once more

When your former self stares deep

Into the eyes of the new you

What will you know of each other? 

Dawn Inspiration

It wasn't the first time I've walked into the kitchen of a morning to the sight of a fox on the lawn outside, but today's encounter was a little special. This particular fox is a regular visitor to our garden (Ant took this picture in January last year), easily identified by his unfortunately shabby coat, which is largely absent from about half way down its back. Frusrated at not being able to tend to this poor creature's malady, I have tried before to approach him with catfood and milk, but clearly of a nervous disposition, he always runs away. Even Marcel, the most timid cat in the world, appears unphased by his presence, happily trotting past him this morning as he sat curled up right in the middle of the grass. The Ted Hughes poem Roe Deer sprung to mind as he rasied a sleepy head and held my gaze for what seemed like several minutes, until with a stretch and a skip, he was off back over the fence. In Hughes's (far superior) words "the curtain had blown aside" between our separate worlds, suspending us in a magical moment, before returning him to whatever it is foxes do in the day (hang out in their dens, presumably), and me to the usual morning routine of tea-making and cat-feeding - "Revising its dawn inspiration...Back to the ordinary".