Bridges and gaps

Yesterday, wending my way from Freeman Street to home, on my bike. I felt an overwhelming love for where I live. Instead of noticing the falling-down things and the littered and broken things. I noticed the beautifully renovated Victorian bay windows, the solitary poppy growing among some rubble, the lady in the butchers chatting to her customers. I rode by people I know who smiled and waved. I could see all the invisible webs of connections we make everyday with those around us and those who have gone before. I could see the bridges between the gaps in the broken things. Not just the gaps and the broken things. We may have problems as a town, and be less than perfect, but Grimsby, generation after generation has people who raise kids here, make lives here, and welcome others who also choose to make this edge place their home.I'd spent the morning doing an event for carers. Sitting with colouring sheets, chatting to carers, then giving a talk about art and wellbeing, in our stunning town hall, under the mural of King John to commemorate our market charter. The room was full of people who love and care for others and lovely folk in the community who are all doing their bit to make their corner of the world a bit brighter. A beacon of hope. People showing that someone loves us, despite how tatty our fur gets. Bridging the gaps.