We are still not at the peak of the coronavirus pandemic, at least here in the UK. Reported numbers of deaths here keep rising (786 SARS-CoV-2-linked deaths yesterday, 6,159 deaths in all) and even the Prime Minister is in hospital on oxygen treatment. It is hard to look beyond this now, especially for people living in crowded cities with little opportunity to get out into the world beyond. A friend who is in the vulnerable age group with several “underlying conditions” is self-isolating with his wife completely, not going out at all for fear of the virus. I think everyone feels the most profound admiration and respect for the people who keep us going: most obviously doctors, nurses, and paramedics; not least supermarket, retail and distribution workers who keep us fed, and those who keep the fundamental utilities running (electricity, gas, water, internet, among others). We need this time recorded too: photojournalists such as Peter Turnley in New York and Leon Neal in London have been doing an amazing (not to mention brave) job in documenting day-to-day life under lockdown.

Nonetheless, it is still early April, and so the northern hemisphere is in the midst of a gorgeous blooming spring, as new life comes forth, and we can feel the warmth of the sun on our backs once again.

I am intensely lucky that I can walk out of my front door for my daily hour of exercise and pass through open fields to experience the beauty of Kent. The blossom is out on the trees and wildflowers under blue skies; newborn lambs take uncertain steps; tadpoles wriggle in ephemeral pools; buzzards wheel overhead, often mobbed by crows or gulls.

For our mental health, I think the knowledge that there is a world out there not consumed by the virus is essential: the promise of an end to the pandemic is there. Yesterday, I took some snaps on my walk, just to remind myself that, whatever else, it is still a very beautiful world.