four days of melting ice

In the middle of juggling jobs, sorting out my car, sorting out a broken laptop, taking care of a needy mother, keeping myself fit, not neglecting friends, soothing my creative thirst, trying not to miss the best of springtime, planning three birthday parties and angsting over my life generally not going anywhere, I woke up one morning with a sore throat.

So I cancelled some of my work, cancelled parties, put everything else on hold, drew the curtains and holed up in a quiet flat. Realised I was exhausted, and not just from what may or may not be covid-19.

Realised that hiding in the dark, burrowing into blankets and sheepskins on the sofa with a book, knowing I won't have to see another person or make another decision for at least four days ... was desperately needed.

Four days, leading up to a birthday more than halfway through life, an unremarkable birthday to some but weirdly significant to me. What will I do with the rest of my life? I watch the birds, note that cranes and wagtails have returned. The ice is melting outside. I think of nothing in particular.