A Record of Our Time 

In those strange, quiet months, the world slowed, and nature began to reclaim what we had forgotten. Butterflies and wildlife danced across once hectic urban roads, while greens and wildflowers—once meticulously trimmed to frame our pavements—were left to grow wild, allowed to sway freely in the wind for perhaps the first time in ages. 

 

As life cautiously resumed, the grasses were cut back, and the bees, butterflies, and birds retreated once more to the small pockets of wilderness we had left them. Yet, for a brief moment, the circuit breaker offered a retreat—not only for mankind but for the earth itself. 

 

Most days, I sat by my window and noticed things I had never paid attention to before. The rustle of leaves, the subtle transformation of a patch of grass, the tiny victories of nature as it thrived in our absence. It was a revealing reminder to be present, to be compassionate, and to find joy in the overlooked details of everyday life. 

 

The walk to the shop became an act of discovery, where nature quietly reinvigorated itself, reminding me of its resilience—and ours. As part of this same natural cycle, we too emerged on the other side, perhaps bolder, more creative, and more deeply connected to our community. 

 

This time poignantly underscored the value of counting the small victories and defeats in everyday life. It revealed something profound about my home: in stillness, there is strength; in quiet, there is beauty; and in the little things, there is always renewal.