Lovely shot there. Thank you for the sharing of it.
And really, your old journal sounds no worse than any teenager's.
I like your description of Canterbury. Did ever you get to York, and the Jorvik... whatever it is? (Viking Centre? I want to say Vikingamuseet, but I know that can't be right--the fact that my mind is coming up with appalling pidgin Swedish is a sign I need to go to sleep, gan aon dhabht.)
I was there once, as a child, a good... twenty four years ago? I should go there again someday, to see it again. An I do, I will try to make Canterbury as well, for to see the Roman villa whereof you spoke.
I'm actually reminded of a dream I had, a bit less than a month shy of two years ago:
I was living somewhere, in a flat in a mediaeval building with the traces of Victorian and later renovations, in a city somewhere, a flat over a shop or perhaps a restaurant or an upscale pub. I had a child on the way. I have no clear picture of who my wife was or where she was, but she was apparently near to delivering.
I had to make an amulet for the child. I needed earth from the Roman racetrack beneath the building to make it. The Roman racetrack could be reached under the foundations, by lifting up a sort of low curtain, a bit less than knee-high, like the space beneath a sofa writ large, and underneath it the curving earth and gravel of the racetrack, left behind when the stands and the walls were fallen down and the stones taken away. I had the feeling it had been excavated, here, and that the archaeologists had left this curtained access, perhaps for uses such as mine. It was behind the back of the building; I was doing this furtively, but had no particular fear of discovery, it seemed.
no subject
And really, your old journal sounds no worse than any teenager's.
I like your description of Canterbury. Did ever you get to York, and the Jorvik... whatever it is? (Viking Centre? I want to say Vikingamuseet, but I know that can't be right--the fact that my mind is coming up with appalling pidgin Swedish is a sign I need to go to sleep, gan aon dhabht.)
I was there once, as a child, a good... twenty four years ago? I should go there again someday, to see it again. An I do, I will try to make Canterbury as well, for to see the Roman villa whereof you spoke.
I'm actually reminded of a dream I had, a bit less than a month shy of two years ago:
I was living somewhere, in a flat in a mediaeval building with the traces of Victorian and later renovations, in a city somewhere, a flat over a shop or perhaps a restaurant or an upscale pub. I had a child on the way. I have no clear picture of who my wife was or where she was, but she was apparently near to delivering.
I had to make an amulet for the child. I needed earth from the Roman racetrack beneath the building to make it. The Roman racetrack could be reached under the foundations, by lifting up a sort of low curtain, a bit less than knee-high, like the space beneath a sofa writ large, and underneath it the curving earth and gravel of the racetrack, left behind when the stands and the walls were fallen down and the stones taken away. I had the feeling it had been excavated, here, and that the archaeologists had left this curtained access, perhaps for uses such as mine. It was behind the back of the building; I was doing this furtively, but had no particular fear of discovery, it seemed.