Below Mellbreak
Sheep occupy old oak wood
between farm, fell and water.
They stare like guards,
unsure if people are permitted.
Marking boundaries
with straggly tags of wool
here on twigs, there on wire,
they befuddle walkers,
lay false trails
by tramping back and forth
through seasons of fallen leaves
and rotting bark,
leave hard bullets
in every resting place
to prove their ancient right.
Amidst a maelstrom of threats, lurks the unseen enemy. It is
transported on a whisper and contaminates the unwary. It settles and spreads. Breath by breath and touch by touch, it
covers the planet. A patina of anxiety
rests over everything and everyone.
Your city, like others, is learning to dodge and weave
around this nightmare, this unshackling of our worst fears as human
beings. And yet, you are noticing anew
the small things in life. Appreciating
again what really matters – a skill we lost and are slowly regaining.
And then, devastation.
As if you don’t have enough to endure, an explosion of fire and what
little security you think you had, is blown to the skies. The dust settles and spreads. More death.
More homelessness. What is left
to come?
And yet, through a window whose glass is shattered by the
blast, net curtains flutter. Amidst the
broken contents of an apartment, a piano is heard. Sweet notes fly abroad to settle and
spread. To soothe, if only for a
moment. The strains of Auld Lang Syne are lifted to the
darkened skies. A shaft of light, of
music in the middle of desolation. How
beautiful a sound.
Inspired by video footage of an elderly woman playing Auld Lang Syne on
the piano in her devastated apartment, shortly after the explosion in the port
area of Beirut.
August 2020
“What took you so long?” she asks me on entrance.
I don’t know what to say. Eventually
her hard stare provokes a response.
“You know very well that’s a loaded
question.”
She rolls her eyes. “Had a lovely
time with your mate then?”
“Yes.” I throw down my tools, trudge further into the
room. “Don’t we have the right to let off some steam?”
“Of course. I just wish you two
wouldn’t linger like you do.”
“What do you mean?”
She turns to me fully. “Well, you
have to stop existing at some time.”
I feel about set to
pop. She doesn't take her words back so I scowl. “I’ll exist as long as I bloody well see fit!”
“All I’m saying is you and your mate
seem to live it large out there.” She gestures towards the entrance. “Beyond the Absence. The place we've made our home, I might add.”
I bristle at this. “Don’t pretend that you don’t know my mate’s name!
She holds my gaze.
"It’s Space!”
“Of course! Your names are
everywhere together!” She throws up exaggerated gestures. “Time and Space are doing it
again! Creating dimensions willy-nilly.”
“We’re doing nobody or nothing any
harm out there.”
“Oh really?" Something flares up within her now. "Do you think they want
to participate in the games you two like to play? Do you think they enjoy your
strict rules?”
I scoff. “You can’t play a fair game
without strict rules.”
“You aren’t playing a fair game with
existent entities that don’t know that they’re even in a game!”
No words. I land heavily on a seat
nearby but make a point of not sitting beside her. “I only ever wanted to kick
back and relax.”
She doesn’t reply. I throw back my head.
“The Absence is the Absence. It’s no
fun here! Don’t you ever get restless?”
She sighs. “You know I do. I even
pop out myself every now and then. But you two…Time and Space…you stay out far
too long. You stay till the very end of life. Don’t you see how cruel that is?”
I look down at my digits. They are
well-worn and can’t quite close.
“I do,” I eventually say. “It’s all over now
for a while anyway. It’s just as dark out there as it is here. I won’t make as
big a thing of it next time.”
“You promise?”
“Yes.”
I move in for a kiss, glad that she
doesn't pull away. We even find reason to laugh. There are things we can do that no-one else can but really it's all beyond us.
“To be honest," I admit, "I’m getting a bit fed
up with Space. Just goes on and on and on.”
“And you?”
"Me?" I wink at her. “I always know
exactly when to finish.”
As writers we are always being told to look for the ‘other story’, the ‘other’ point of view and sometimes that applies to real life too.
During lockdown we’ve heard so much about Nature winning back access to nature reserves, parks and even cities. The National Trust properties have welcomed extra visitors in the form of peregrine falcons, stoats, weasels, lizards, little owls and hares. They’ve not paid much in entrance fees but have had online visitors entranced with their images.
Less international trade has led to a reduction in marine traffic, giving space for dolphins to swim up the Bosphorus and do some site-seeing around Istanbul harbour. Seals not only sunbathe on the banks of the Thames, but hitch rides on the back of paddle boards, hauling themselves up and looking at the paddler as if to say “Why have you stopped?”. Wild boar have been trotting through the centre of Haifa in Israel and wild goats have acted up in the streets of Llandudno.
Our roads have been quieter, so we’ve been able to hear bird songs we’ve never noticed before, seen more birds which suddenly have the confidence to out into our quieter towns. Our councils have stopped cutting grassy borders and hedgerows, leaving the flowers to be enjoyed by insects of all varieties and all of Nature (including humans) have benefited from the decrease in pollution. More bees to pollinate the flowers, more insects to provide more food for birds, and so on up the food chain.
So how could anything be wrong with all that? Well, nothing, really. Except that much of ‘Nature’ is now controlled by, and relies on, our activities.
The reduction in traffic has been of benefit to many creatures, who have been emboldened to cross the road. Strangely, there has been an increase in reported accidents involving bigger animals such as deer, foxes and boar as well as domestic cats, despite fewer vehicles around. Possibly the animals have become complacent (or young ones never learned) how dangerous roads are, leaving them more susceptible when a vehicle does come along.
Conversely, a red kite was found recently in Meltham, too underweight to feed itself properly. There could be lots of reasons, but the strong possibility is that there is less small road kill such as hedgehogs, pigeons or pheasants. Where at one time, the kites spent much of their time on moorland, hunting grouse and small mammals as well as eating carrion, now we have spread out our towns and the red kites have learned to feed on road casualties. When that source disappears, they have little to fall back on.
There are other species which are suffering during lockdown. Few of us would be too worried about rats, which rely on us throwing scraps away or dropping edible litter from picnics etc, but seagulls and pigeons also are suffering in the same way – although the pigeons in the woods near me are just as fat as usual and still have great difficulty taking off fast enough when chased by my dog!
It’s not only animals and birds which have been affected. Roadsides and hedgerows are not being cut as frequently, leaving the flowers to bloom and thrive. Unfortunately, invasive plants are flourishing too, crowding out and strangling our native species. Volunteers are needed to go out and clear the plants but many people are unable or unwilling to join the ‘balsam bashers’, even at a suitable distance apart.
Going further abroad, safaris and nature holidays had been rising in popularity. Now they have abruptly stopped. The animals may find life quieter but the people involved in the holiday industry have been equally abruptly thrown out of work. With no income, they may have to resort to hunting the very animals they have been showing off to wealthy visitors. Often the wardens, too, have lost jobs leaving the areas more vulnerable to poaching, which has increased considerably. Inevitably, some of this bushmeat will find its way onto a market somewhere – and that is not good news. Bushmeat is the prime suspect in the coronavirus crisis.
But not all is doom and gloom. Beavers, which escaped (or were deliberately, though illegally, released) on Dartmoor have been allowed to stay. They are a native species, but became extinct in the 16th Century. Now they are back and we can enjoy their presence again – if we can find them, of course. It’s not always easy to get up close to Nature.
The other side of the story is that we can sometimes get closer to Nature than we intend. Picnickers in Berlin were surprised (perhaps delighted) to see a naked man chasing after a wild boar which had nicked a bag containing his computer. His determination succeeded in recapturing his belongings, returning to the applause of all those watching. In Berlin, naturists (as against naturalists) are a common feature of their parks (apparently. Not been …. yet), the German for which is Freikörperkultur (free body culture). Perhaps, this time, it was more a case of free porker culture.