I withdraw in shame my previous comments about London greyness seeping into the soul.
After waxing lyrical about the quality of light in Suffolk, we've had a week of beautiful winter light here in London.
and magical dawns.
This last picture (below) reminds me of a story I remember from childhood - and which I associate with my mother, maybe she read it to us?
A story about someone who, waking in the morning, and beginning their daily work, becomes transfixed by the sight of a building in the far far distance with windows of shining gold. They set out, resolved to journey as far as necessary and as long as it takes to find their way to this glowing haven. Over hills and dales and through dark forests and across murky rivers, they are driven on by their vision of the dazzling gold. On exhausted arrival at the other edge of the horizon, they find an ordinary, undistinguished house with plain everyday windows. And looking back across the landscape, tracing the long long way they have travelled, they see their own house in the far far distance, transformed by the setting sun into a wondrous burnished dazzle of gold.
parable of life, eh?
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11 months ago