LOCKDOWN

It is May 2020 in Whitstable, Kent, and the world feels momentarily paused. The two hundred and sixty parking bays, once hotly contested, lie empty, stripped of movement and sound. The air is heavy with the suggestion of a storm, the horizon dark and expectant. Within this sudden stillness, a single figure moves with quiet intent. A young woman crosses the open space, throwing a ball ahead of her. Her dog surges forward, cutting through the rigid geometry of painted white lines, a brief pulse of motion across an otherwise vacant ground. In that small act, something persists, a momentary release, held lightly against the weight of a world brought to a halt.