(sing for the coming of the longest night)

[raven]

I got up before 10am today, something which I have not done in days and days, and went out to brunch with a friend at a place by the Serpentine. I walked back from Knightsbridge to Covent Garden, through freezing, diamond-brilliant cold, under a cloudless sky.

And you know, it turns out London is a beautiful, ancient city. I went through three of the royal parks - allodial land; held without tenure, without mark, for eight centuries - and along past Hatchards, where a hundred people were queueing up to get their books signed by Tim Peake; and through Piccadilly Circus, which is currently hosting an exhibition in praise of Frank Pick, a shy, unassuming lawyer who lived a shy unassuming life at the start of the last century; who believed that as the London Underground belonged to the city, and all the millions of people who used it, every aspect of it should be a work of public art. I bought a book and a cup of coffee and I did some work in a cafe like the ghastly cliché of a writer I am, and I saw the sun begin to set over Hampstead Heath with the skyline glittering behind.

And though tha sinn anns an dùbhlachd, and it is so very dark - not forever. Nothing lasts forever, except this place that we live in.

Comments

[st_aurafina]

I love your London posts so much - they're like a beautiful postcard that just arrived on my flist.

[brainwane]

<3

[glinda]

Ged tha sinn anns an Dùbhlachd, ach tha an-sin solas fhathast.

The sea mist has been hanging heavy over Inverness all today, but just before 3pm the haar lifted and we had half an hour of glorious sunset that turned everything golden and glorious.

[sally_maria]

You write beautifully - thank you for sharing this, it was very moving.

[khalinche.livejournal.com]

Ceart gu leor, ach bi an sólas na grian a'tilleadh, and in the meantime tha nan solais nan sraid Lunnainn to keep us going.