Like a Longfin Eel

 I'm inside Heathrow now. All cleared for flight and confirmed covid negative. I've been testing 2-3x every week since arrival (daily on weeks when I've been wrecked and paranoid) and not once have I had a positive or equivocal positive test.  When I left work on Friday morning, a third of the anaesthetists were down with it, three of the midwives had been tested overnight after showing up to work with symptoms. One tested positive and went home. The hospital had been winding down resources, closing the covid ward, coincidentally the PCR machine had broken down and there was limited actual testing possible and a fair amount of delays and strain. I went to ED this week and it was grim - I've never seen so many people parked in the hallways and I remember the days of North Shore hospital in the early 2000s.  I feel like when we imagined a wave, we thought of it all like one Taranaki shaped peak, climb up and over to the other side, then done. But its more like waves waves

None of the routine of loading up the boot, looking at the house, pulling it shut and heading off More like setting off on a one way hike I sat on the doorstep and watched the pine trees opposite wave in the wind, basking in the sun. Have I settled in so much here that home will feel like a foreign adventure?

I'm not sure if writing here is all that bright. I can always not post it. Or unpost it. When I think of what I'm going to miss about the UK probably the overwhelming thing, or perhaps underwhelming thing, is that its okay for me to be queer here. And its not to say that its not okay for people to be queer in NZ, its more that it felt not okay for *me* to be queer in NZ. Which of course is mostly my own baggage, but somehow (and certainly not deliberately), in the 50kg I packed coming here I didn't pack that. Or maybe I did, but I'm not taking it home with me.  The humming stress around that is similar to what it feels like working in a hospital with covid I think? Like, over the years I've made minimal micro adjustments and got on with things. It's no great oppression to go round all day wearing a mask.  When I arrived here there were  rainbow flags  freaking everywhere. I am old enough, and closeted enough to remember catching a glimpse of the flag in the corn

March 13 Between sets of night shifts  After galoomping the bulk of my stuff to London on the green train (see previous post about how great green trains are), and packing the rest into a school bag sized backpack that strained at the seams. After saying goodbye to the dear Dragon boating crew. After tying up the loose ends from clinic and lab results at work. I went down to Cornwall to farewell folk there. A casual meandering which included helping my mate in Lostwitheal put the ear tags on new lambs, and getting to taste the juice of the peaberries we had harvested.  My housemate suggested going for a walk along the south west coastal path with her folks.  And Cornwall, fantastic, breathing rock, tumultuous sea, solar panel, rich new comers and weathered local, pasty perfection Cornwall - put on a stunner couple of days. 

(Written March 8) I thought it was spring a couple of weeks ago When the first flowers poked out, earlier than usual And people started wandering around Exeter in their shorts A cheerful heralding of climate change But I forgot the green that comes after Spring grass The branches before the buds burst forth Bulbs hidden at the base of trees All very banal to write down But wonderful  When you pause and realise how hard the winter has been The rain can’t dampen it Red mud on our shoes

Dawn on a Train This is the pay off for getting up so early and stomping through the empty streets of Exeter. For crawling out of bed wondering what I was thinking. Speeding backwards through frosty fields. Tea and a packet of crisps. (There’s no tea like a GWR train tea). Mist lifting off the rivlets coursing through the paddocks The Devon flag laid out  I love the feeling of having already arrived to my destination, despite being hours away. Giving over trust to the tracks. To the bare trees and bright sky Cast with birds  The stops gather people And their stories Books and head phones Bags and worries Sun glints plastic cups as a couple raise celebratory  Early Bubbles Spire Terrace houses Allotments Field Shed Station Hills Hills Hills Spire Houses Allotments Field River Frost Wide wet plains It’s like scrolling.  Mindless. The Wiltshire hills rise up The red dirt shifts to white clay Running my eyes over the landscape Like hands over