18th February 2024
It has rained all night and I hope those outside have stayed warm and reasonably dry
5.40 I dress and pack last things in my bag. Bike lights on. Waterproofs secure. Go. The road is empty and sparkling with the combination of street lights and rain.
Like everywhere else, Parliament Square is sodden but the overnight vigilers are positive! We perform a tricky dance as we swop places, adjust rain clothes, fold and unfold umbrellas. With my ponchos spread like a tent I sit on a small camping stool. Inside a foggy warmth builds up – it keeps me warm if not dry. Waterproofs have a tendency to be less so as the wet persists!
Calm returns and Jonathan and I settle into the composure of vigil.
Jonathan reads a passage by Thomas Merton about rain in which he talks about rhythm and sound of rain. Parliament Square has its own sounds for a wet Sunday morning. There is the swish of car wheels against water. The gentle slap of running shoes – running on a Sunday morning is clearly popular come rain or shine. The illusive sound of wetness that seems to hang in the air.
There are few people walking by. Sunday is not a working day for many. There are no construction vehicles wheeling past, and few delivery vehicles either. Even the police presence is diminished.
The Square has both a daily rhythm and a weekly rhythm and even a yearly rhythm. Sit here long enough and you’ll become part of it.
On the far side of the expanse of flat green grass that fills the Square, a row of London plane trees provides a lacy edge to the sky, whilst in the rain their patterned trunks stand out proudly. In between at head height, way-farer palms trees look oddly out of place in a rain soaked London.
On the grass seagulls stab for food – maybe worms brought up by the rain. Picking up on yesterday’s thoughts, I greet Brother Seagull with a silent “Good morning”. His reply comes back, “Awk….awk…awk!”
The gulls are joined by a pair of Egyptian geese, their feathers glossy in the rain-washed light. “Good morning Mr and Mrs Goose!” Egyptian geese are known for their fidelity.
There are few tourists this morning. Sight seeing is a fair weather pursuit and only a few resilient Japanese walk past following their tour guide.
The rain which has blown both heavier and lighter, dwindles and fades away. Faint patches of blue appear in the sky and ten flags unwrap themselves from their flagpoles.
Wetter weather may well be a consequence of increasing temperatures: warmer air can hold more water. Adapting to wetter winters and drier summers is something we will have to embrace.
A pavement cleaner stops to talk. He’s seen our signs and is from personal experience deeply aware of the effects of the climate crisis and equally convinced that it is unlikely we will make changes to turn the situation around. He is 73 and comes from Bangladesh. Rivers that used to teem with fish – the key part of their diet and a source of income – are lifeless, the waters polluted with pollution from factories and cities. Children can no longer swim there – nor too do the dolphins. He despairs that it will never change – yet he tells us that whilst simply to pray will not achieve anything, to pray and act is a different matter altogether. And he prays all day – and as to working, his name, Abdullah, means slave of Allah. He left us feeling greatly uplifted. Somehow despite the odds, he radiated hope.
The Green Tau 