It’s such a small, frivolous thing to be thankful for when the world has been brought to its knees by influenza’s older, demented half-brother, with a chip on his shoulder and daddy issues, but we were walking out in a nearby field for our daily exercise, shielding our eyes from the early-evening, orange blush, already grateful enough for such glorious spring colours, when the familiar sight of grazing sheep came into view. And then we saw them … tiny, skipping miracles in the grass around them, newly born into the world, tens of them, just days into their earth experience – hopping and nursing, one of them curled up on its mother’s back.
It’s such a small, frivolous thing to be thankful for when the world has been brought to its knees by influenza’s older, demented half-brother, with a chip on his shoulder and daddy issues.
We raced over. We thought they were tiny dogs to start with (neither of us passed our farm animals GCSE). But no, they were lambs alright. And we were blessed to be there, to be permitted to walk through such a serene and peaceful painting, full of life. There wasn’t a soul around. It was just for us.
We took pictures and made videos, and as always, we laughed. We’ve been doing that a lot over the last few weeks, which is surprising considering we no longer have to turn on the news to find out that the world is a frightening place, but the human condition is a strange one. We laugh at the memes and videos our friends send us, of the innovative ways that people are considering wiping their bums in a time that we deludedly hope to look back on as nothing more than the great toilet roll crisis of 2020. We laugh at each other and the stupid ways we pass the time – anyone for tampon tennis? And we have both been shocked by the dark, dark jokes that emerge at a time like this, which could never be repeated outside of the two of us.
Back in the field, we laughed at the numbers on the lambs’ backs – anyone for lamb bingo? We laughed when one of us suggested calling social services on number 47, who would obviously rather be off flirting than feeding her lamb, who’s buggered off and joined 51, although baby 51 has other ideas. Then we ruminated on how cruel it is that lambs, which are so cute, lovable and full of energy, eventually become the rounded, dowdy frumps that are nursing them, the irony not lost on us that we are both becoming more and more like our own mothers every single day.
In between laughing and taking photos, there were moments of silence. And I think we both felt it. Not just gratitude, but peace and calm. If we could just stay here. If we could just stay here forever, then … I have no idea. But neither of us wanted to leave. We could almost feel the earth taking a sigh with us, her relief obvious, enjoying a temporary reprieve in her own battle against raging disease. And then it was over. We were losing light, getting hungry and had to leave this perfect moment behind, but we were smiling for the rest of the day.
Follow Hayley Sherman, writer … @hayleystories