Distantly Social

Despite several abortive attempts at achieving some uniformity of text this new Blogger interface refuses to cooperate, no matter what I do. The draft post is uniform but the published post shows different sizes, line breaks and fonts. It's driven me insane!!! I hope it's readable on whatever device you're using! 

 

Throughout this whole pandemic and lockdown I've been trying to walk on a daily basis. It was called essential exercise at the start of tthe restrictions. I don't know what it's called now! My walk became very much a lifeline to deal with the mental load of a lockdown which was for me tantamount to self isolation.

And somehow I wanted to put into words my morning walk and this is what I've come up with. 

 

 Can't follow the yellow brick road right now, it's too early in the morning. I'm following the grey macadam road, the one with the white line running right up the middle. I can't walk along the white line for I have my headphones on and I might not hear the car that manages to mow me down. So I’d never know if it was a Bentley or a Mini that served me my notice. But the end of the grey macadam road is like emerging from a gloomy tunnel into a dome of blue and sunlight.

So this is a sunset painting but this is looking west to the roundelay

I go anticlockwise around the Roundelay up along towards the Dogwalkers' Meeting Zone, greeting the pigeons, the magpies and crows as I pass. I try to ignore the overflowing litter bins resplendent with lockdown takeaway packaging. I take care to, not necessarily avoid, but secure a general social distance from other walkers and most particularly the joggers who do not care about COVID-19 or social distancing. They will jostle you from behind rather than alter their trajectory. And their huffing and puffing will spread any given disease if you get too close….

I come full circle and go clockwise round the Roundelay, looking out to sea and seeing the early morning lights like a pearl necklace along the coastline. Then westwards, sometimes on the path, it depends on the proximity of the people and the joggers, sometimes on the grass, uneven, with the gift of dog poo presenting a messy obstacle if you're not careful. I pace the Road to Nowhere which takes me off the main path briefly. I round the bend past the 39 steps where Richard Hannay climbs if you’ve a strong enough imagination, to the Peacock Tree, resplendent in its very oakiness, Onwards, along to the Grand Staircase for views of unparalleled beauty. Watch out for commuters though, who haven't time for Covid fear, for the train is due. And they will descend the Grand Staircase, step-by-step, to reach their pandemic platforms. On I surge, pathwards, tiptoeing, meandering alongside the Covid Stone Snake to the Bermuda Triangle where all is never quite lost.

For me it’s onwards, eastwards, down along the Grassy Knoll where there are no book depositories so I know its safe, past the Shelter, of salt scorched rotting wood where the homeless sleep and the lovers linger, not necessarily in that order. Up to the Holocaust Tree where I touch my heart and remember all those who did not survive their pandemic of fascist prejudice to witness this pandemic. The Secret Oak where you could hide your clandestine messages in the crevasse in its trunk, extracting love letters which your secret lover might have left, then clockwise round the Triangulay -  so much open space here you can see the comings and goings of land and sea. Sky and clouds gaze down. Slightly downhill now and hurtling towards the Traffic Lights which remind you, in case you dare to forget, that you're not in the countryside, you're in an arrogant seaside town trying so hard to disappear up its own arse and succeeding……. at times.

It's a spider junction so you gotta have your wits about you when you cross the road to avoid being hit by an insomniac vehicle. This is 5.30 in the morning. Then it's the home straight down Blackberry Way which is the magical land that leads to the Enchanted Castle from Norman times. But it stands in silent ruins now  regarding this estuary, or is it actually there to view the annual migration of the Brent Geese.

I allow my gaze to wander across the panorama. Knowing that when I turn my back and start my return journey and make my way back along the same route, almost, the best part of my day in this lockdown lockup will be over. As I make my way back, already, the rest of the world is waking and evident.