Walking into light

I have started walking ( most of the way) to work. Kiss J, stroke Miff's soft fat spotty tummy, set off. Pounding the sun-dappled back streets near Finsbury Park, listening to the birds singing, looking at everyone's front gardens and window boxes for ideas, then through the park where dogs are running, a few stops on the super-fast Victoria line, and then get off again, and walk the last part of the way in from Warren Street, enjoying the smells from the cafes, watching office workers sauntering along, with their croissants and lattes, stopping to buy a bag of fruit for a pound or so from the cheerful man with a stall outside Goodge St. Light flashing off the glass of Centre point, cyclists swearing at taxis, sun in my eyes, and I suddenly notice it. Normality. It's back. The unexpected, longed-for gift I used to take for granted. The absence of fear, the absence of anything but what is here, around me, right now.

The sun in my eyes, the people around me, the day's work ahead, the ground beneath my feet. A blessing.