And yet…

..on the way home from lunching with a friend, I pick a piece of bark off a plane tree round the corner from my home; examine and feel its different textures front and back, its little dimples and flaws, its mottled colour like a trout skin, its toasty autumny smell. ‘There lives the dearest freshness deep down things’ – even when I’m depressed, even when all my senses seem to have shut down. I just have to keep looking, touching, smelling..