17 July, 2007

London Still

Reading the most extraordinary book! Affinity by Sarah Waters. Waters, who has so touched my heart before, has reached right down inside me and tugged, squeezed on, and pulled open my heart. I marvel at how the pages seem to fill my days with beauty and meaning and sorrow and tenderness.

... So many things play upon my mind lately-- keep me restless at night! I have come to the Embankment gardens to search out clarity, perhaps recognition of the swarming in my head, so i might ease it. But as usual, I am faced with so many distractions, and not enough down time in which to fully explore.

I feel dreadfully isolated and simultaneously cramped. London. Perhaps... but how unfair of me to be cross with London when it has been so good to me, offered me a place to thrive.

Just now I felt the rumble of the underground beneath my body here on the grass! It has made the trees throw pollen as if in celebration.

A peculiar man has approached me to ask if I am an artist. I tried to be very kind and gracious but felt desperate for him to leave me alone. I think an earlier version of myself might have viewed him more histrionically. I might have made him a living angel, a messenger, a guide. Now I don't know what I think.

Ah. There is that rumble again. This time more ominous.

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