What a difference a year makes.
Last June, we had recently moved in to our new house. The family home; the one for the kids to grow up in, the one we hoped to be in until we are wrinkly and rattling around. The boys were enjoying exploring the extra space. I was content seeing trees swaying out of the windows and watching the robins and wrens. Our bedroom faces tall London planes and when it’s inclement weather, their bowed branches rustle and howl in the wind; it’s a bit like camping, but with a more comfortable mattress.
When you step out of the front door, blue tits are twittering about, flitting from the cherry tree to the Scots pine in the park. Coming from a practically bird-free-zone in our last house, it felt like we had come to live in an aviary.
The hum-drum of normal life pottering along, felt quietly full of possibility. Of positivity.
What a difference a year can make.