lesleyjonesberry

Good Morrow, friends. St Valentine’s is past

A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Act IV Scene i

What is love?  This huge essential word.  It motivates us so strongly, and at the same time it is ubiquitous and clichéd.  Patently, it ranges from something quintessential within our psychological core, to the softest, most whimsical, peripheral frond and feather of feeling.

At the top of our road is a thoroughfare named Portway. It heads roughly east to west, with houses and side roads along its southern edge and West Ham Park bordering to the north. This park was originally part of the Upton Park/Ham House estate, where, in the 18th century, Dr John Fothergill created a botanical garden ‘second only to Kew’. Alongside the wide green open spaces, the football pitches and sports areas and playgrounds, all essential parts of a living, vital community resource and sanctuary – in other words, of an urban park – there is an ornamental garden, where remain traces of the design and layout of Dr Fothergill’s garden, with trees planted by him. The ornamental garden is, to me, the heart of this haven in east London.

The gate we use to go into the park – the one nearest to our house, also closest to the ornamental gardens – is designated Portway Gate.

‘Our possessions outlast us, surviving shocks that we cannot; we have to live up to them, as they will be our witnesses when we are gone. In this room are the goods of people who no longer use them’

Hilary Mantel, The Mirror and the Light pp66-67

I like change, but I approach it crabwise and incrementally. I sidle up, try to consider it from all angles. I review and rehearse each step, until that one feels comfortable, and I can look towards the next. I am easily alarmed, and superstitious, and like time to adjust. Since March, however, the pace has been disconcerting, the big conceptual shifts overlaid with urgent practical tasks.