I’ve already poured out my grief in this column about climate change, the private rental market, and offices that only seem to lack a hall of mirrors and a Ferris wheel. This has forced me to confront an uncomfortable truth about myself – despondency and frustration actually inspire me. But I’m not blind. We now have some beautiful weather, and nature – despite our best efforts – is still able to renew itself, giving us some hope for tomorrow (although maybe not for the day after)
Recently, while dipping my feet into a local lake near Poznań, I was wondering how it was possible that summer is upon us once again. That dreary period between October and April always seems to last forever, when the scrawny clumps of grass struggling up between uneven paving stones even seem to laugh in my face. Honestly! At least, that is, until the sudden arrival of the first wave of real, indisputably hot weather. And no, I’m not going to utter a single word about how long it’s been since it last rained. Nor am I going to moan about the time early on Saturday mornings they start mowing the lawns down to matchstick length right in front of my block. Some prefer scorched yellow stubble to abundantly lush greenery – but I honestly don’t care.
The first dog walks of the day now take place a little earlier than in the winter, or at least, so I’ve heard – as I don’t have a dog for the reason that I don’t want to get up at the crack of dawn. While a friendly Basset Hound owned by a neighbour on my floor seems reduced to a state of anguish no matter what the weather is like, a Labrador on the sixth floor clearly enjoys brisk walks in the evening. For reasons that are not entirely clear to me, he also seems to have taken rather a liking to me. So much so that his owner once asked me in the lift if I kept a pet at home. I replied – rather shocked by this spontaneous human interaction – that, in fact, I did. I did once notice an invasion of beetles on my balcony. What business do they have above the tenth floor? (If anyone knows, please feel free to drop me a line.) They obviously wanted to share some time with me during my evening tea. And despite being slightly phobic of these horrors, I have to admit that seeing them actually gave me a warm glow of optimism.
My summer memories tend to be populated by insects (and not just because I read Kafka’s Metamorphosis for the first time at this time of the year), as well as insect bites, sprays, bandages, arguing with little brothers, scratches and bruises. I could swear that in 1988 I saw more earthworms and snails in a single month than over the last five years and now I kind of miss them. Whether we like it or not, wasps with designs on our waffles or beetles falling backwards into our cups of Earl Grey are just as necessary to the planet’s survival as we are – and they even don’t have bank accounts and as sure as hell they don’t know what ESG means.
Please don’t get me wrong. I’m not putting forward any kind of green manifesto. These are just a handful of embellished memories. As I’ve already mentioned, I have no exaggerated illusions as to the future of civilisation and, as I lack faith in our institutional bodies, I’m just left with my faith in nature and how it never changes in the face of all our new ideas. And even though my neighbour on the sixth floor tells me that this is the third time her Dachshund has got ticks from a trip to the forest (this time under the ear), I can see by the gleam in her eyes that their excursion into the heart of the wilderness has been worth it. Anyway, I hope you all manage to get back to nature this summer. October will come around, as always, way too soon.
