Well, I had to ask myself what to write this week. I had ideas many were broken and beaten, some forgotten. The one that's stuck is the mayhem of the following week...if you saw last week as being crazy for commuter ville, this week was the environmental stress on everyone.
First, the early mornings to crisp, the bitting wind left over made for slippery ground, crystalised air forming under my feet glistened in mornings street lamps. By the time I got to town, the sun was up but that idea of the city being warmer didn't exist...that water really must have been cold.
But at least it could be seen, the perfection of sunrise had already hidden the weekends flooding nightmare up the east coast. Now, in true disbelief of the perfect aftermath, everything looked fresh. No wind, just a silloute cloud and a a more damp ground.
Only I should have known better, all that dampness stuck in, and the week turned into a re-enactment of the the 1950s smog. If you could see whats ahead you might be able to plan your route. For the un-initiated, it might have been quite daunting yet, justifiably enjoyable.
The photographers around town have died off because summers been and gone. Still, enough people were out to enjoy the silence that meant standing still was eery. The more bleaker part of the year heightens the senses and each foot step next to you could be heard...beyond those few feet of vision absolutely nothing.
To not be able to see the other side of the river, and hear Big Ben strike the 8am gave small chill. Like nothing before, the world still goes on, somewhere, unseeable had to be going about its daily routine.
Yet the London hubbub everyone knows, was quietened down. The only
things that were well placed were the ghost ships bobbing around like they could take you to another world.
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