“…when sometimes I have stolen forth for a walk… (I) have felt as if I had committed some sin to be atoned for”
Henry David Thoreau
Away from the romantic strolling of Wordsworthian landscapes and Heathcliff’s wuthering cliff tops, the apparent freedom of the walk, denied in lockdown, is offered as a carrot of escapism – being allowed to leave the home environment, for “no longer than an hour”.
However, in a domestic setting, walking by government instruction, for daily exercise, becomes a necessity and a chore. We are robbed of the ramble, the opportunity to roam free, bound by distance and time constraints. And have purpose in our step, we purposefully walk; briskly, controlled, managed.
And then repeat, repeat, repeat.
Don’t talk, just walk. Don’t make eye contact with strangers.
We have imposed our own set of rules on our walk, we pass by as ghosts, steering clear of others, resisting any engagement that might encourage a breaking of social distance, the risk of raising our voices in order to be heard is matched with an increase likelihood of us spitting potentially infected droplets into others faces. So, we hang our heads in shame, no one knowing who is cursed, avoiding others for our own safety and theirs.