Monday, February 4, 2013

i've gone away for to save my soul

I sit inside my classroom, the sounds of Trafalgar Square: the cars, the buses, the bagpipe playing all float up through the wood and glass screenless windows.

I enjoy the comforting white noise of the cars, the people, the honking horns, the wind shaking the rooftops.

I enjoy the warm smell of smog, Indian food, and the busy halls of Charing Cross station.
Every moment I feel as though I might run into a character from an Agatha Christie novel, or meet the ghost of famous writers lurking in pubs and coffe shops.

But the city's loudness can be oppressive.
The magic of England, I find, is in its gardens.
In its countryside.

So we journeyed to this little place
"What is it about the English countryside — why is the beauty so much more than visual? Why does it touch one so?"
I don't think you can even imagine Trafalgar Square on the same planet as this little idyllic paradise, much less within two hours of each other.

We sat on a bench, looking at the silky blue lake, eating cucumber and ham sandwiches.
The air smelt crisp and fresh.
The sandwiches crunched with a juicy freshness, the air sparkled with cleanliness, and the sun hit the green grass with unrelenting cheerful warmth.

This is such stuff that dreams are made of, and that little tamed wilderness is rounded with a sleepy air of calmtentedness.
“The ordinary-sized stuff which is our lives, the things people write poetry about—clouds—daffodils—waterfalls—what happens in a cup of coffee when the cream goes in—these things are full of mystery, as mysterious to us as the heavens were to the Greeks.”
 ― Tom Stoppard, Arcadia


  1. Aha! You have read Arcadia. Isn't it marvelous?

    1. Thomasina is the greatest woman's part ever written!