...I want to get off. I can't help feeling a bit like that as at present nothing seems to be happening does it? Here in The Dales most people seem to have self-isolated apart from those who are keeping us going - delivering newspapers, groceries, milk and the like. I have not been out since a fortnight last Saturday apart from once or twice round the block with Percy when the weather has been especially pleasant. Other days I have made do with a bit of gardening. Today I have planted up three herbaceous geranium plants I sent for and watered them in. When I think of all the rain we have had over the Winter the ground is especially dry.
Nothing is happening, things (apart from the virus of course) seem to have come to a standstill and one is forced to fall back on one's thoughts. This happened this morning when reading Matthew Parris in today's Times. He is my favourite columnist - I very much admire his writing and his subject matter is always food for thought. Today he writes of his beloved Mother, who died on Monday aged 93 after a long and happy life. In a moving tribute to her he quotes Thomas Traherne and it is worth thinking about: 'you never enjoy the world aright. til the Sea itself floweth in your veins, till you are clothed with the heavens, and crowned with the stars: and perceive yourself to be the sole heir of the whole world, and more than so, because men are in it who are every one sole heirs as well as you.'
His mother was a great believer in reincarnation (which he is not and nor am I) and also loved robins dearly. This morning while speaking to his brother on the telephone he saw a robin regarding him calmly from a bush outside the window. A sign? Most likely not - but I know from my own experience the comfort one can get in the early stages of bereavement from small happenings like this. I still get them occasionally - a glimpse of the farmer out of the corner of my eye in a familiar place or a familiar pose. Or something is said that he would have said. And for a moment it is as though he is saying it. None of it any kind of proof about life after death - all just happy memories of times ingrained on one's brain.