2020 what a year this has been! I think most people will be glad that it has come to an end and will be hoping for things to improve in 2021.
Given the current situation, it might seem an odd choice in reading material but I’ve just finished reading The Plague by Albert Camus. I started reading it because I had heard so much about it, had often kept short quotations by Camus and I felt that it was a book that I should read. I started fairly slowly, not sure if I was going to enjoy it or not, but as I got further into it and got to ‘know’ the various characters, it became a book that I really wanted to read.
Covid 19 has really turned so many lives upside down, has ended so many lives and generally made life extremely difficult for those in the caring professions and in businesses of all kinds. Decisions have been made for us, we have felt a loss of freedom and struggled to keep positive.
Everyone hopes that next year things will improve but cautious optimism is about as much as most will admit to. As I looked back through various files I came across a poem written about this time of the year – probably about eight years ago.
A New Year
Eight o’clock, on a dark dreich morning.
Wind plays a tree concerto, shuffles roof tiles
like an expert gambler. The music of winter.
Nine and the sky is lighter; a rosy glow
appears behind the cottage across the way.
An early coffee. The world looks brighter.
A window of watery sunshine glows on
our chimney breast sundial, lights the stone
with dancing shadows from Tom’s trees.
Outside, the robin waits, hoping for
his daily treat of meal worms. You cast
a few, his one-sided look gives thanks.
A charm of goldfinches line calloused branches
of the old apple tree, queue for the niger seed,
patiently wait in typically British fashion.
The wind eases, sailor’s trouser patches
appear, promising a brighter day. Omen
for the coming year? Maybe. We hope.