Light will shine eventually in this groundhog year
SOME country folk feel sorry for those who live in ‘the big smoke’, which is now full of virus as well as vice, making it not just a dirty old town but a dangerously infectious one. Especially with “too many people all shoved together”, or so says a fellow who pulls up in his jeep and rolls down the window for a chat when I’m out for a walk.
It’s like being back in a time before everything changed. Though usually he would be in Australia at this time of year, he tells me, where his son and daughter live. But he is happy enough to be stuck at home in rural south-east Ireland. And why wouldn’t he be even if he thinks Donegal is the best place of all?
Someone advised him to take vitamin D to keep youknow-what at bay. “Isn’t that sunshine?” he replied, and we both smile at the fleeting winter sun. For the skies are big here, and green fields easy on the eye. And the air is fresh even if it’s freezing.
Though the countryside isn’t a cosy sanctuary any more, no longer the great escape and getaway for the good life. Now it’s not friend-of-a-friend’s stories that scare us but a family across town who have all been struck down after a get-together over Christmas. Along with their neighbour a few doors up. And that fellow who used to hang out in Market Street chewing the fat and watching this country corner of the world go by now fighting for his life in intensive care.
Like in some weird spaghetti western there’s a stranger in town, the virus finally riding in one dusty day and hitching its horse; the ultimate bad-ass blow-in and edgy outsider.
For we seemed to dodge a bullet last March after the initial panic made you worry about vulnerable locals. But we flattened the curve and got things under control. It was fairly easy to follow the rules and stay safe in the sunshine. To put up with those who claimed it was all a conspiracy to take our freedom away.
But these early days of a new year seem way too much like the one just gone. Forget those resolutions about a new you. Most of us will be happy just to hold on to this old one. And those of all we hold dear.
Maybe it’s comforting that there are familiar aspects from winters before, what with seasonal storms prompting power cuts, and below-average temperatures freezing the pipes in this crooked country town cottage. I open the boiler to have a look and find a dead bird; a little grey and black wagtail surrounded by the beechnuts and chestnuts that I gathered on last autumn’s walks and recently threw out. This squirrelly little soul must have been storing them when he died from the fumes.
I place this brave bird of a feather on a withered leaf and float him down the river. Because we’re all in the same boat now, whether we know it or not, the goal being to stay alive and not hurt anyone.
And even if it feels like we’ve swapped Vivaldi’s
Four Seasons for one savagely same-old-same-old long lockdown, the darkness will shift and light will come again. If we just take a deep nationwide breath, love our neighbours, and motor on.