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Central London is extraordinarily quiet and in places more beautiful than ever. The gardens in front of Buckingham Palace are bright, pristine and precise. Cyclists and pedestrians amble content – untroubled by fast traffic.

Oh, but this wretched mask business! Frustrated human connection is palpable – people half-run towards each other, hearts primed for a hug. Then remember and retreat. Awkward.

And I get it, of course – for all the touted conspiracy theories and protests, most are frightened, plainly enough, of an invisible enemy. But I hope a fearful humankind can re-member and reconnect when the longed-for new, new normal comes. Beautiful cities are meant to accommodate connected people.

This river must get
cross with my frequent asking
her to write a book

A friend is heading to the Ashmolean for the Young Rembrandt exhibition today – which prompted me to take down one of Roger Housden’s inspired works from my shelves. The closing paragraph of his Lesson Six – Embrace The Inevitable leaps off the page:

“Rembrandt has, indeed, prevailed through the centuries. His example of loving this world despite all the troubles it brings; of standing his ground in the face of the opinions of others; of faith, both in his personal experience of God and in the second sight of imagination; of his profound acceptance of the mysterious ways of life itself – all this is as prophetic in our time as it was in his own. When we see ourselves in Rembrandt’s mirror – our human vulnerabilities, our persistent spirit – I believe that we can be inspired to be more freely who we are; to be what we most want and value. By virtue of his painterly genius, everything he was lives on today in the hearts and minds of those who have caught his eye gazing down at them from some grey museum wall.”

How Rembrandt Reveals Your Beautiful Imperfect Self: Roger Housden, Harmony Books, New York, p229

sometimes a so-called
accident turns out to be
significant art

A robin surprised me in the garden this morning: surprised, that is, by the quiet presence on the fence in bright hot sunlight; surprised by attentive watchfulness and ease in human company; surprised, too, by the bedraggled plumage – elderly looking even. It was as though the tiny bird was looking forward to sharper, frosty mornings – the kind that make you sit up straight, fluff up your feathers and pay attention. And something primal in me isn’t surprised that the robin’s being here, with me, has been a comfort. Something to smile about – all day, and on into the evening too. Robin Red Sunlit, I’ll be looking out for you 🙂