This week as the world tilts, we each adjust to our new normal.
For me this is the close, cancellation, or rescheduling of exhibitions and university teaching moving online; the distress of an elderly couple shuffling terrified into an empty supermarket; the noise of mass media and clamouring panic.
In reaction there is village mobilisation, community support networks. And everywhere friendship, problem solving, the limbo of waiting and the view from the window suggesting nothing has changed. The grass keeps growing and the crows still delight in riding the wind.
On Wednesday I walked in the gathering dusk.
Like a cool blanket, wrapping the world in quietness, the darkness was a resting pause. Rain crackled on my jacket, whispering lightly on my upturned face.
I thought about what might be useful, what you might need right now to lend you strength and space to breathe.
So here is silence.
Here is planting your feet, feeling your toes and the soles of your feet on the earth.
Here is breathing, deeply into your belly.
Here is listening in widening circles to the sounds of the world around you.
Looking deeply at a flower, a tree, a plant growing.
Here is a moment to pause.