When the furthest I can go is the local garage to buy milk, freedom is listening to my favourite music, putting the window down, and driving the extra minute to see the way the sun sparkles on the river. When those minutes in that car are limited, freedom is soaking in every moment, all the hedgerow flowers and green fields and rolling hills and blue sky.

When I have to stay within the boundaries of home, freedom is reading a book about the ocean and filling my mind with obscure facts, like the blue whale’s tongue weighs roughly the same as a whole elephant, or how one can walk along the shore in the Maldives and see the glow of phytoplankton called Noctiluca scintillans, or sea sparkles.*

I can’t travel, but I can type beautiful memories and spontaneous thoughts into a screen.

I no longer have a passport, but I can plant flowers and vegetables in every available space and anticipate the colour and flavour that will spring up. I can breathe in the scent of rosemary and tear basil leaves over a bowl of tomatoes and right here, in my four walls, is life’s goodness.

I can’t go out this evening, but, while I sit in my child’s room and wait for the sleep that eludes her, I can write a story about the blue feather of the Jay and a girl who walks in the woods.

Freedom is being told it is ok to feel frustrated or depressed, and freedom is also being able to reach for the small things again and again.

Small things like the bright yellow of a dandelion; the affectionate eyes of a dog; the magic of a field full of buttercups; hands wrapped around a morning cup of coffee; a soft jumper; and a moment of play.

Freedom is having a heart that can turn to wonder, not in the absence of difficulty, but in the midst of it. It’s finding a way to prayer and worship, in spite of pain. Freedom is having a soul and a mind with wings, even when circumstances hem you in.

*The Blue Wonder, Frauke Bagusche