It will be better

Rainbows in windows.
A smile.
Days of dazzling blue sky.
The tiny olive on our tree.
A butterfly.
Squirrels race along branches.
Rabbits in the fields.
The woodpecker taps incessantly, reassuringly.
Warm sunshine.
Crisp, white wine.
Pastry made from scratch.
Another batch of lentil soup cooked.
Frozen.
You want to bake bread.
Shave your head.
Do.
Make.
Read.
Watch.
Sort.
Talk.
Wash hands.
Repeat.
Wash hands.
Repeat.
Every Sunday, 3pm. The street sit on chairs in their front gardens.
Laughter.
Happiness.
Elation, despite the situation.
8pm and we clap.
Hands, pots, pans and the sound of a harmonica.
Strikes a chord with everyone.
And when it’s done the emotion takes over.
Spirits are uplifted.
A weight is shifted.
A new day.
Everyone walks.
People exercise when they haven’t ever before.
Strangers greet each other.
Animals don’t know.
Dogs want to say hello from across the street.
They’re unaware.
Longing.
A strange sense of belonging.
A strong awareness of mortality as reality sinks in.
Nighttime.
You nestle down in bed.
Restless.
Dreams fill your head.
Helpless.
A sense of dread.
Emptiness.
No purpose.
You feel lost.

Routines are skewed.
People confused.
The elderly lady down the road doesn’t understand.
She needs eggs.
A single orange.
The radio talks in the background.
It’s constant.
Towering uncertainty.
Not knowing when you’ll hug your Mum and Dad again.
Only ever seeing them every couple of months.
Now, wanting to see them more than ever.
Uncertainty.
A test.
Humanity is fragile.
It’s unchartered territory.
No clear way out.
Fear.
Sadness.
Apathy.
Agony.
Anger.
Darkness.
A glimpse of light.
Hope.
Hope is powerful.
The rainbows in windows remind us.
The birds are singing.
Porridge in the morning is sweet.
Uncertainty still looms.
But the bluebells begin to bloom.
Nature is thriving.
One day.
We’ll wake up.
It will be better.