Susy Smith

n recent weeks, the words of Welsh poet WH Davies have often come to mind: “What is this life if, full of care, we have no time to stand and stare”. I have been as guilty as the next person of living my life at a ridiculous pace and rarely taking time to stop and appreciate the simple things. Now, with nowhere to be and nothing pressing to do, I find

I have time to properly take note of what’s going on around me.

In my home, I’ve rediscovered many favourite things. I usually pass these several times a day, rarely giving them a second glance: paintings, photographs, vases, books, a row of perfectly round pebbles collected from an Italian beach where we enjoyed a long, lazy lunch last summer. Now, with no holidays on the horizon for a while and time on my hands, I pick all these up and look at them anew, examining their details, remembering why I chose them and loving having them around me.

A windowsill in the room where I work displays a treasured collection of artisan china and hand-blown glass bottles. Two tiny ceramic bowls, roughly fashioned by hand, have the words ‘From The Sea’ inscribed around their rim. A pool of melted sea-glass sits in the base of each, and I have added pieces of softly worn green and blue glass collected from various seashores over the years. I turn these over in my palm and marvel at the power of the sea that wore away the once-sharp edges.

Facing me is a photobook one of my brothers created for us four siblings a couple of Christmases ago. It contains old blackand-white photographs of my parents from when they first met and married in 1937 through to 1962, and pictures of each of us as children. Now, I leaf through it and am reminded of how wonderful were the mother and father who nurtured and encouraged us to be happy and follow our dreams. Next to it sits another book, made for my twin daughters’ 18th birthday by their dad. It is filled with pictures of the girls from the first minutes after they were born, through their all-important years of growing up into beautiful young women. They have ‘graduated’ during lockdown, and I can hardly process where all the years in between have gone.

As I pass through my garden in these gentle days,

I pause by roses, lilacs and the swathes of sweet rocket growing there, for all give up their own perfume and I’m grateful to have it. In glorious weather, the garden has become our extra room, and I am much more aware of the wildlife that shares our space. We’ve watched robins nest-building in the ivy on our old apple tree and feeding gaping chicks, we have laughed at the antics of a family of five blue tits careering around on new-found flight and I’ve chatted almost daily to the female blackbird who joins me when I’m digging, as she collects food for her young that are safely hidden in a nest in one of our hedges. She, too, allowed us to quietly part the branches and see her sitting on her brood.

I have taken videos of a vixen passing regularly through the garden, even sunning herself on our garden bench, and of a tiny wren bursting into song in the cherry tree. I have never been a fan of social media, preferring to see friends face to face rather than conversing online, but when I could no longer invite anyone round to enjoy my garden with me, I decided to start sharing images of it on Instagram. I am surprised by how much

I am enjoying photographing the plants I grow and receiving comments, questions and compliments about them from those who have begun to follow my daily postings.

I have been able to watch the changes in my garden day by day. Having cleared out my greenhouse, I have grown plants from seed for the first time in years to help with succession planting. I’d forgotten the magic of seeing the surface of brown compost become dotted with green as seedlings begin to send up their tiny shoots.

Even something as simple as drinking from my favourite mug of the moment, made by ceramicist Molly Hatch, brings me joy. It has an extra piece to the handle, making it so easy and pleasing to hold, jolly blue stripes inside that appear as the tea diminishes and the declaration ‘Hello There’ on the front. It cheers me every time I see it. In short, this enforced slow-down has proved to be a surprisingly positive experience for me. To steal another two lines from the poem, I have thoroughly enjoyed finding “…time to stand beneath the boughs, And stare as long as sheep or cows.”