Dearest darling, Consider this our first letter. I’ve often wondered – either walking alongside you or standing against a railing preventing me from jumping to you – if you were a woman or a man. When I walked next to you, you lead me on. I went where you went. You spoke. I listened. You … Continue reading A letter to the Thames
It is a purple night. The coniferous trees are tapering to the sky in dangerous sharpening of tools. The canopied ones look like fleshy scythes. Kenilworth Castle is a mound of black. We walk down to Abbey Fields Park. Two parapet walls on either side mark the entry to the parking lot. There are other … Continue reading Abbey Fields
~ Written after leaving the familiar Bakewell ~ Some say it is in the familiarity of everyday that our soul lies. And if somehow, by some means you are detached from this familiarity, you feel a longing, an ache you wish you weren’t feeling. Losing a long kept job, finishing three years at university, marrying … Continue reading Familiar Bakewell
I believe in God. I believe everyone gets to see God, at least once in a while. This is what happened with God in Grasmere. When we arrived in Grasmere, after a three and a half hour journey from Coventry, darkness was already setting in. We drove past Windermere, past River Rothay and the Swan … Continue reading God in Grasmere…
She removed herself swiftly from the cab in front of Canley Crematorium and began to jot down in words the following: ‘Entrance to Charter Chapel, Gardens of Remembrance and Cemetry’. The map at the very entrance caught her eye: of course, it wasn’t everyday that she came across areas marked ‘Weeping Willow’, ‘Book of Remembrance’, … Continue reading Canley Crematorium
It’s called the hidden gem of Warwickshire. But we find it easily- nestled on the A429, next to the International Warwick Riding School and a few miles away from where Edward Plantagenet was supposedly beheaded. We creep quietly with our cars, leaving tracks in gravel which is wet constantly by the constancy of rain. This … Continue reading Remains and Leftovers – Guy’s Cliffe House
I was one of those people who scorned at street graffiti being called art, now I am saved. But I am not going to call it Street Art or Wall Art or Contemporary Art, I’m going to call it Art. There is Art everywhere in Shoreditch – on a locksmith’s door, on a Punjabi restaurant’s … Continue reading Shoreditch, proclaim, proclaim, art.
"Never did sun more beautifully steep / In his first splendor, valley, rock, or hill; / Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep! / The river glideth at his own sweet will: / Dear God! The very houses seem asleep; / And all that mighty heart is lying still!" (Upon Westminster Bridge- William … Continue reading Upon Westminster Bridge