It’s a weird thing to look out of the window at a world that’s seemingly frozen by the fear of an invisible assailant.
We’re accustomed to the sounds of the places we live, for me it’s the buzz of my city with its veins pumping with traffic, the voices of hundreds of people basking in the glow of our nearest star with their friends and the cacophony of bicycle bells.
But for now I hear nothing but birdsong and the gentle rustling of leaves as the wind outside adds movement to the branches of the trees I can see through my window, somewhat beautiful yet eerily reminding me that the world is in stasis.
I worry about potential mental atrophy as each day becomes a carbon copy of the one before it, to counteract the threat to my psychological resilience I aim to keep myself in a flux of consistent creativity, making morsels of media for others to feast upon.
Over time, the new-found novelty of an isolation vocation starts to erode around me, finding myself incessantly intrigued by the influx of information cascading through my gadgets and gizmos a plenty, they show news bits and reports galore, governmental whack jobs, who are shady, we should care, massive deal, please…no more.
The government has excised outside exercise to only once a day, a walk, a run or a cycle, no more than that they say.
And shopping must be infrequent, for medicine and food, the way in which we used to live has really come unglued.
In an attempt to twist this social distancing into distant socialising, I reach out to the near and far, the far and wide, the wide awake from fear-induced insomnia, those nocturnal kinfolk seeking solace in the shadows as they adapt to a pullulating and pestiferous planet.
No end date yet, and I’ll bet that this will be the way of the world for a while, there is no denial that the planet has morphed into a unknown entity, with so much to learn from, the view from the window is all we have for now.