By Ann Parker
Apologies to Slimming world, but. . .
I have a need for chocolate, as in boxes of,
One at a time, of course, but how long’s time?
Chocolate spread in sandwiches . . . Hot chocolate,
accompanied by furry blankets. . .
Next door are in their garden. Instinctively
I start to go, call out, ‘Want a cup of tea?’
But we are not allowed to.
They could make their own. Drink it while
watching me drink mine, the Regulation
Two Metres apart, of course. Or, normally,
I’d pop in on Judy – go on to
the coffee shop, the library, the church . . .
They’re all off limits.
I do well for phone calls. Non tactile
obviously – but it’s the reciprocal –.
That’s missing. The basic need for some exchange,
to show an odd shaped twig, share a recently
divided plant. It’s not about expense or cost.
It’s far more primitive than that. When not
consumers we are more like grebes, water birds
instinctively exchanging pond weed.
Emails, phone calls, Zoom and such. Human contact
-through glass screens. Something lacking.
Only chocolate will fill it.
But not that well.
Easter Day 2020 – (Corovirus Sunday)
This morning, this non-re-enactment day,
no church, no ceremonies, no tradition,
no addition to the Anglican long line
of memories. No hymns. No choirs.
Jesus Christ is risen today, AAAAA lelulia –
Doesn’t sound the same in ink, does it.
Hymns mean coming together, as many
as possible and being vocal – and co-ordinated.
Well Lord, today you have a heavenly choir
of tweet, chirrup, trill, as the birds, now
audible without the traffic, do their
innocent best ecumenically,
across all the gardens. Maybe I’ll
wander up the hill towards the Methodist
and note birds singing in the little shrubbery.
Right now they may be singing in
St Peter’s garden too. That’s a nice thought.
I hope the church enjoys it. It evokes a sight
of seepage down those old stone walls
that isn’t due to damp.
Just sad gratitude.