A series of photographs with accompanying lines of verse displaying the pull of depression the Speaker had through lockdown and steering their will to push on another day. As Winter ebbs away, a rush of nostalgia takes its place. A solitary figure wends the way right to the water's edge: This is no Wanderer Above a Sea of Fog, There isn't a cliff or curling fingers of obscurity Just a figure, some thoughts and the mighty river. Calm, in a pool of sunset, ruminations stray to the changes Of a year gone by. A crumbling bank. A rivulet Streams down to join the bigger body. Such is Time Wearying down bodies, Scratching age into contours. In the distance, signs of life: Laughter, wind, and moving points Of light. Is this misery solely mine To battle as if movement after a year of sleep Is nothing to rouse out of? The face of upset is sometimes tranquil. The serene belies the depthless currents. Agony swirling Unseen. Perhaps this is Charon and this my Styx. Or perhaps, this too, like the river, Is in motion. What prevents one from going under But the promise of daybreak after twilight? After this year of stillness, I look For another ruse to shelter this Unmoored mind. Tie me up to the shores of winter: Spring tides in gently.