Oxford

I wish to explore the lesser-known Oxford - a city nestled within the central rolling hills of England. The dreaming spires and distinctive golden oolitic limestone that stands brightly over cobbled streets, shadowed by crowds of tourists, students and locals already get much rightly-earned acclaim, but there is also so much to celebrate in the margins, the green outskirts and verdant parks, meadows and rivers that cushion this beautiful city. I was not born here, but it is truly the town that is my home.

After witnessing lockdowns spread around the world in the wake of COVID-19, on the 23 March 2020 the once-unthinkable notion of a quarantine of society finally hit UK shores. Along with the rest of the UK and the world, the city of Oxford I have called home for six years has changed and emptied; an unpopulated picture postcard of itself.

Many of us lost much of the comforting structure around our lives — of work, home and family routines, socialising, travel, or merely ambling on city streets and in parks without the weight of inadvertently breaking quarantine rules.

The bustle of Oxford life - punting along the Thames, pub garden beers, students in their exam sub-fusc bumping alongside clusters of tourists – has paused, and I don’t know if or when we’ll see a city we would recognize again.

The need for the sensory, the full palette of life beyond the screen takes me inexorably back to nature. There is something about being in natural spaces that is a release, allows me to breathe more deeply, and feel and think more openly and outside of the depths of my own head. Seeing the benign inattention of the natural world continuing around us can give liberating perspective to my human-sized worries, even during a pandemic.

The lengthening days are pushing out the liminal, quiet, shadowed spaces of dusk and dawn that I treasure; a time when nature itself seems paused in beautiful contemplation. Daytime runs in green spaces are soul-soothing, but there has been a growing mental load in getting this needed fresh air while dodging the physical threat of passers-by, or anxiously eyeing the police officers anxiously eyeing ourselves, as we try not to feel guilty for the small mercies of daily exercise or savouring the fresh air while queueing for groceries.

Whether by intent or serendipity, those quieter moments are precious. There has been sparks of joy in waking to the quiet sunrise, or walking along the Thames tow paths with evening light streaming through the drifting white clouds of cottony willow seeds. The bright sun I remember from last summer will bring its own gifts — warming parks and outdoor spaces long into the evenings. Port Meadow in the later hours swells with families and dispersed young people, recreating pubs, sports grounds or swimming pools in the fields and river, offering some hope and levity; a respite from the current realities.

When life changes course, it can sweep away the banal minutiae of life, at times in both terrible and freeing ways. Trying to swim with the current, and living life in the moment, the precious sensory present, evokes the vibrancy of the life in our hands, and can help us thrive in change. There is always more to experience and explore.

For now, I will be keeping up my doses of Oxford’s green riches, and keep finding those small measures of peace amongst the turbulent currents of our new reality.

Original photography by Georgia Melodie Hole.

Spring

The Oxford skies have heightened,

above a world widened;

expanded by Spring’s sweet breath.

A far-risen warmth greets the grateful earth,

as sunlight finds a near-forgotten strength.

The meadow is aflame with daisies;

each a solar eclipse of white petals,

glowing against their sepal shadow moons.

The botanic constellations are scattered, speckled,

strewn across the heavens of verdant green grass.

Summer

The early downpour has ended.

It leaves everything with a bristling freshness,

exuberant steam rising from the golden tracts of green.

The ecclesiastical vaults of tree boughs stand,

with fresh gilding in verdant greens, pinks and ochres.

As quiet sentinels, they stand unmoving,

attentive to their congregation of susurrating leaves,

whispering their prayers in the hallowed canopy,

quelling as the summer wind passes through.

Autumn

Brittle autumn leaves spiral down;

softly rustling as they meet in empty space.

They cleave the morning mists,

Falling to embrace their reflections on pooling rainwater.

The final bright crisp days,

of brittle yolk-yellow leaves and falling fruit,

bring forth a clarity;

a bittersweet final glimpse of nature,

striving to fill the world with vibrancy,

on the threshold of winter senescence.

Winter

Port Meadow in the morning mists,

with pre-dawn ink ephemeral to the landscape’s canvas,

ever-changing from one footfall to the next.

As the light rises but fluctuates,

as clouds pass, shrink and grow,

the cacophony of the winter birds is what heralds the dawn.

Emerging, the air burns in its absence of touch.

The sun tingles but the warmth is within.

Ground, air and sky all become close and benign.

There is an energy gained,

a power held.

A photo story of Oxford, UK by Georgia Melodie Hole.