The suburb of Eaton, part of Norwich was a busy place today. The swathes of families strolling through Eaton Park were a joy to behold. The public park came to life as it was designed to do in the decades before television and Sunday opening of shops in the UK. A touch of pale sunlight had filled the footpaths and play spaces.
It was cold. Frost settled hard in the heart of the flowerless daisy plants, not lifting even after the Sun passed noon. I look across a piece of flooded marsh where a little egret is poking through bull rushes. The brilliance of its white plumage seems exaggerated in the low sunlight. Around the marsh tall willows are already rouge tipped. Regeneration of foliage underway within their sprouting leaders.
The shadow of the air ambulance passed low overhead as it homed in on the city hospital. It is bright yellow and always draws attention. Norfolk is a large county and its population is now thinly dispersed along windy village lanes and along an extensive coastline, so the fastest route to the Accident & Emergency unit is the one taken by crows.
In the morning I talk to a dear friend who I miss greatly. We are both OK. Afterwards I wonder whether we might one day sit down for a coffee once more. It is like this now; the fear of Covid-19 is diminished, but hope remains fragile.