Living in Quarantine.

Living under lockdown is proving to be a strange experience. There’s a sense of unreality about it, a sense of having pressed the pause button, a sense of living in a world shifted onto a subtly different plane.

I miss doing the things I usually do – moving unregarded among the myriad of people walking their petty and personal paths, observing their little ways and watching how they respond when some sort of contact is effected. I miss being out there making my own choices and engaging with the petty and personal things which mean something to me.

But living under lockdown is a relatively peaceful experience by and large, even though accommodations have frequently to be made to the unfamiliar, certain sacrifices grudgingly accepted, and the principle of flexibility paid more than lip service. Never have I seen so many people riding horses and bikes on the lane outside my house, while motor vehicles are relatively few in number and the sky overhead is almost devoid of the usual commercial aircraft making their way to and from East Midlands airport. It’s all so much quieter and slower.

And in the midst of all this I find myself thinking often of the Lady B. It’s hard to know why now that she’s so very far away and a million miles behind. But then so is the beautiful young dog I lost to illness thirty six years ago and whose death I still mourn. They both brought a rare light into my life, so why should I think of one but not the other? And wouldn’t it be reasonable to suggest that a life held on hiatus should naturally attract unproductive thoughts.