It is just after 4pm. Already it is dark outside, a condition exacerbated by thickening cloud. The eighth in the series of ‘The Dark Months‘ was written a day after Remembrance Sunday.
The Dark Months – Eight
It was past the eleventh hour, though not quite the eleventh day. But it was a Sunday of Remembrance in November.
Walking through empty streets, there was a sense that things were about to change, but also that there was something that we had lost.
Of course, that could just have been a mood brought on by a damp afternoon.
Passing a bandstand, we heard an echo of the joy of days past; a ripple in the pond of time.
Elsewhere a new President had been elected, and history made as a woman, of South Asian and Jamaican parentage, was elected Vice President.
The freedoms we have today are to be savoured. That is undoubtedly true. They were fought for, not given.
But true too, is the sense that through the pandemic which has dominated 2020, we have lost something.
Perhaps, more a devil-may-care attitude, a freewheeling panic.
We have, if anything, regained our innocence, set free a child like joy from days gone by. And in doing so we have also gained in wisdom. And it is beautiful.