I got Covid for the second time, and all I could feel was grateful.

Grateful for my health. Both genetic and curated
Grateful that so distant from a vaccine, my symptoms were still mild
Grateful for how it came and erased anxieties of the last few weeks, in a strange strange way

It came and told me to stop. I am matter over mind in that Mediterranean way. What the body wants, the body gets. So I stopped. And I sat down. I lay down. I switched the engine off. I asked little of myself or others, or of myself for others.

Grateful for the glorious May weather. It could have been a dark, cold winter, but it was not
Grateful for the sun to hang my wash after wash after wash on the line
Grateful for my No Mow May English jungle of a lawn, with its brambles and buttercups, bees and butterflies

Grateful for England’s green, its green green, the best of greens, this summer green
Grateful for the yellow and white irises that popped up like meercats
Grateful for the rosebuds, appearing in their clusters
Grateful for the teenage woodpecker with its scruffy plume, swooping in to visit every morning
Grateful for the mega chard that had grown to above my height, bolting and eager to flower
Grateful it was a tight month anyway, so saving cash was just-as-well
Grateful for the fruit in the bowl, vegetables in the fridge, rice in the larder and 24 fish fingers in the freezer. And lots and lots of peas
Grateful it wasn’t in two weeks or the week after that when I had plans. I would have been sad, sad, sad, so sad
Grateful it wasn’t the week before or the week before that when I’d been high on spring, meeting, travelling around town, laughing, dancing, spinning round a ballroom, dancing, feasting, chatting, singing, dancing, running, walking, feasting, chatting, dancing, dancing, shagging, dancing, dancing, dancing

Grateful for mother fox and her two cubs bounding around in the neighbour’s garden
Chat GPT told me I shouldn’t feed a wild fox.
But Chat GPT, she’s a mum. With babies. She jumps the neighbours’ new border-of-a-fence with ease, ha. Nature always finds a way. I’m so pleased. Dog biscuits for you my darling. You can come sunbathe anytime you like.

It’s been two weeks since the two red lines appeared on the lateral flow. So retro, my friends said, no one tests anymore. Many assumed I was poorly, I stayed home for 10 days, save that little walk in the morning, setting in like a ritual. I wasn’t ill, just bodily slow. And in need of bread, butter and biscuits. And lots and lots of Netflix.

What body wants, body gets. Matter over mind, every time.

It’s been two weeks, but I can’t run, cycle or sing. My lungs won’t have it. I stopped smoking years ago, but it’s like I’ve been 90s clubbing if I pick up the pace. This is what happened last time, the post-covid lung thing.

Vicks and time.
Olbas Oil and time
Chest-opener yoga and time
Ten weeks I give it.

I did the Wendover circular with a Meet Up group anyway. Testing myself? That’s the English side, there. Right there. I survived the hike, “the country air did me good”. The English side again, see? That weird protestant thing. Then the Richmond Loop, then dancing tango for hours and hours. See? I’m all contradictions, as are you. I wouldn’t take me as seriously as you sometimes do.

Everything happens at the right time.

There are no mistakes, only lessons.

I had a good Covid. If it finds you, I hope it’s kind to you too.