I have tried.

I have tried to keep myself busy, to occupy my troubled mind. I spent last week making a bird table from an old wooden pallet, using tools that Tall claimed were his. In truth he was faster and possibly more skilled, but as the only machines we were allowed to use at school were the ovens and sewing machines, it is hardly surprising. 

During the time that I waited for the glue and filler to dry the dark clouds descended once more. Thoughts of what Tall would have said heightened my sense of loss. I tried knitting, but I couldn't sit and concentrate. 

I bought a second rainwater butt and installed it without Tall. I cussed the fact I hadn't checked the size and had to drill a different hole lower down and buy a different pipe to fit on the 'T' piece from the first. 

I know I should be proud of what I have achieved, yet all I feel is empty. The current pandemic has me trapped within my four walls alone, the steps forward I had taken have been dashed away. There's no volunteering, no groups to attend. The reality of watching people talking on TV about getting back to normal once it is all over leave me recalling that my normal is exactly what I have now.