Someone on FB commented, hopefully erroneously, that lockdown is a-happening. Isolate if you're vulnerable or, in my case, if you're close to someone that is. Seal yourself for an indeterminate period while our bumbling twat of a PM lies about what's happening because he and his lunatic advisers haven't a fucking clue.
I stepped out of my house to collect my washing. The line is outside, in the garden. If I want dry clothes that's what has to happen, so at some point the spell will be broken. Either I will breathe in the deadly air, or I will breathe it out into the world. There is no compromise. No Prince Charming.
A clear night sky surrounded the washing line. Transfixed by the mathematical beauty; ordered spotlights from a different kind of corona. I stood at the centre of a celestial equation so perfect I could fair ascend to the heavens in my slippers. Framed in eternity, a constellation with bad hair and a basket of still ever-so-slightly-damp attire.
From there I would watch the earth, loosed on its axis. Cavorting, as continents between oceans between continents dance and ripple;a whirling universe. Life teeming in multitudes shrinking and rising; ebbing and flowing. A suite of biology echoing across the planet like a drum dance or a hammered dulcimer.
I would turn to my celestial kin with but one question:
"How did we fuck this up so badly?"
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