is the last line of Don Paterson's poem, Rain.
Lockdown is still loaded with odd feelings and contradictions. You feel numb, you feel full of longing. Everything matters, nothing does.
Like my insomnia last night. There I am, attempting some yoga in the living room at 3.40am, watching light seep into the inky sky and hearing the birds start with their dawn cheep-outs.
I have been awake all night, for no obvious reason. 2am Weetabix, Radio 4, and reading have failed to drip-feed me to sleep.
I finally fall over after 4.37am.
In the morning, I made sure to force myself to go for a jog. My favourite thing about lockdown jogs is meeting other people in the 'hood. Naturally, I have to stop for a chat. It is such a luxury just to talk to people in the street. It feels like a relief, like breathing out.
When I get home, the kids hatch a plan to make lunch for us. They get dressed up for the occasion. They google 'posh music' on Spotify and play piano concertos through the speaker. They find a white table cloth from a drawer and say, 'Welcome to thy banquet'.
It was so relaxing to have the tables turned and be waited upon. Again, a brief luxury. Every small, good thing savoured.
After lunch, we go a local walk, as we always do. Bonus points if we get to stroke neighbourhood cats or dogs.
In our own dog-search, I am still looking at rescue sites, some abroad - which is 'a thing', apparently. Tess has already adopted one of the pups, in her head. She imagines it on the end of her bed. I have started to imagine it around my feet. It is there, it is not there. It exists far away. It needs love.
Who knows where the 'event horizon' of all this Covid chaos will be. It's the dizziness of not-knowing and trying to guess. Telling yourself that life's main challenge is to take whatever comes. Steel yourself. Learn to float. Hold on. Let go. Do both!
Tomorrow is another day. I hope you will sleep well tonight, curled up like a pup.
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