From my opioid cloud I look up from a blank computer screen to the window. I should be writing but somehow it’s easier to stare at the trees and sky. On this December afternoon it’s not yet 4pm and already it’s dark, a winter dark so deep it can swallow one’s soul.
This lack of light is a metaphor I could extend to life in general but that would be too dramatic – or would it? On the streets, shops and parks, as I see people going about their business I suspect many are struggling with their mental wellbeing. As Covid mutates, with the economy in the bin, the government mired in corruption and the BBC unable to say the word “Brexit” clearly something’s amiss.
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