Once more a connection with Dave King and his poem on London.
I was there last Monday, I visited The Globe.
Well, the brightness, the whiteness along The Thames by The Embankment.
The swollen clouds in their sky filling the view. Advancing and passing. Merry though slightly menacing.
Announcing and at once erasing rain.
The hundreds and hundreds sheets of poems filled by sunbeams constituting The Lion and The Unicorn.
A grey squirrel in St.James Park which seemed almost inclined on chattering.
The wobbling Millenium Bridge struck by sparks of sunlight and hands of running shadows.
The glass on glass on glass on glass in exuberant transparency on the ground floor of The Economist building.
And in a bar a fresh baguette with ham and tomato absorbing the light from the glass window.
While a woman was breastfeeding her child.
A queue of more than five hundred metres of people who were going to visit Westminster Abbey.
The ripples of The Thames, ever present. Like a mind.
The river inside us.