It's Still Life

My first impression: the hand of catastrophe slapped us, and we are its remnants. It’s 11am. Where are the people? Bond Street is nearly empty. A man is laughing with his girl friend, must be a girl friend, their limbs are entangled like ivy. He’s strapped into a backpack with words LONDON in bold letters. Free, I’m free to walk at pace, no doddering tourists or window shoppers to slow me down. Or pick-pockets. It’s one of those days that I don’t feel my age, don’t feel my hip grind, don’t feel out of breath, and I don’t feel like going to the dentist just because a filling fell out.

A flock of birds
Two years adrift on the Thames
A swarm of flies

Process notes: I was in London yesterday (yes, the dentist), and I was astonished how the city’s changed. Even at rush hour, I had a seat on the District Line. London is greyer than usual. Littered. Unkempt. But the lack of people highlights the grubbiness. Covid. Brexit. Wars. Wars to start wars. The world feels violated at the moment, and I’m finding cheerfulness an unexpected effort. 

Written for Stream of Consciousness Saturday #SOCS, today’s word is “trip”. Photos are my own, taken yesterday from Blackfriars. iPhone – don’t need a camera anymore. ©Misky 2022 Shared with #amwriting on Twitter