The grand splendour of Springtime, forced upon us to enjoy in lockdown. The refuge of the garden shed to regain a sense of normality, a tranquil escape from the fear of what may come next. Photography suddenly becomes a pastime in a literal sense, the writings I write have more familiarity with back garden anecdote forums than photo whizz promotional blogs. Solitude and stranded, awaiting the first go-ahead event. Set back to June at present but expecting later. Not needed as a volunteer, nor a seasonal picker, at least our potatoes got dug in. The blossom is in full pelt, causing my eyes to sting and my nose runs more than the stream in the woodland below. My sniffling scares the old dears in the local co-op. The smogless days and the only human noise is either another lawn being cut or a gossiping loud neighbour who ignores her safe distancing (which in her case should always be another street away). Really this should be testing times, putting your back into those picture experimenting tasks to make you a better photographer. I'm content thanks.