A visit the local Post office was on the agenda,
as I had a bundle of letters I wanted to get in the post,
hopefully to arrive before the weekend.
This necessitated our daily walk taking place earlier than usual.
Shady glades and sweeping views
were traded for the more mundane plod along the sunbeaten streets of suburbia,
in search of stamps,
paying-in envelopes for Lloyds Bank
and a post box.
"Do I need a coat?"
"It's 21 degrees out there!"
The KHT reappeared respendent in her cool trekker hat (complete with secret mozzy net),
blue t-shirt and the Puma leggings she chose as one of her birthday presents
neither of which which has pockets.
As we wander we will spin Pokestops and capture any unsuspecting Pokemon,
but there was no sign of the device essential to such an operation.
I regarded at her quizzically,
before giving in and asking
"Where's your phone?"
Then an outlandish thought crossed my mind
"You haven't hidden it under your hat, have you?" I joked.
She removed her head gear with a flourish,
revealing her phone, balanced upon her head.
I laughed in appreciation at her creativity,
and suggest the bag of letters for post
might make a more suitable repository for her mobile.
There is a fine line between genius and insanity.
We all chose where to draw the line, but who is to say where is should actually be!?
The Post office was quiet,just one customer being served
and another joined the queue behind me.
Stamps were affixed to letters,
which were then popped in the post box
before we continued on out journey.
We took a circular route,
noting the unstoppable changing of the seasons
- nature is definitely not limited by lockdown.
The generously endowed lilac,
weighed down by
sodden fragrant extravagance last week,
is already in descending into decrepitude
as the browning blooms descend to the pavement
to be trodden underfoot by oblivious pedestrians.
Every area has a landmark,
by which the passing of the seasons are measured.
This is the tree I look out for when travelling this route.
I am ignorant as to its species,
my interest is in observation not indentification
I just love the shape of it.
A short while ago the leaves were beginning to open.
Today it is transformed,
decked out in seasonal finery.
In the evening we join neighbours on our doorsteps to express our appreciation of the NHS and other key workers.
I doubt if they can hear us, but it is the thought that counts.
DH breaks off a Zoom session to join in as we ring handbells in an orderly descending scale,
before deciding that shaking them produces a more satisfying clanging crescendo
Parents ushering their children to the door to take part,
so that this will be part of their lockdown memories
to recall through rose-tinted glasses
when they reach middle age
- sharing through a yet-to-be invented form of communication.
Then, because we are British, we don't know how to stop without looking awkward.
In our bit of the street the noise peters away,
whilst our more boisterous neighbours in the adjacent close
continue their joyful celebrations the other side of the six foot fence..
The tribute complete I take the opportunity to catch up with a neighbour.
Afterwards we retreat behind our doors,
and revert to watching the world through the internet.
Then I remembered that the next day was a Bank Holiday
and that Saturday deliveries have been suspended...
No comments:
Post a Comment