As her mind drifts...
She sits in the lab looking blankly at lists of reaction times in her testing. She knows it's meant to mean something, and that at some point she'll be able to look at it with some sort of significance. It will all mean something at some point. She knows that she'll be able to make means and stats out of it, using ANOVAS and such to compare groups and factors, to compare dominance and age of acquisition, compare geographical state and language. But for now, she is willing to stare blankly at it and not make any sense of the lists of numbers before her. For now she is willing to allow her mind to wander.
Winter has set upon London with its biting, gale-force winds, and although it is dogged by its rainy days, the spectacular sunny days more than make up for it, especially when walking over one of the many bridges that cross the Thames. The sun hitting her face in such a gentle fashion that it warms her only slightly even though she is rather toasty in her black drummer boy coat. It's days like these that make her wish she had cropped hair to feel the chilling wind through it and brush against her scalp. She recoils slightly when she remembers the terrible gales she had to endure when she walked through Regents Park one gloomy Sunday. She'd fastened her coat so high up, that all could be seen was the crown of her head. Being a tiny frame she was walking almost horizontal as she tried to make her way to the Hub, walking against the force of the wind.
Her eyes glaze over more as she remember the long walk she had along the South Bank one wonderful Sunday in the summer. It was a sunny summer's day, a rare one that year, and particularly pleasant walking along the Thames with an even more pleasant Scotsman who had such an affection for art and life. Walking through the crowds that had gathered round the Cuban festival that was taking place that day, finding the Banksy jewels that were strewn across the walls of the Tower Hamlets, as they walked to Embankment. She remembered how much she loved listening to his stories, holding his hand and watching the crowds bustle by.
Suddenly, in her mind's eye she sees a ray of light hitting a green, grassy hill, with apple and pear trees strewn around. Fruits ripening on the trees and so tempting to pick as she watches her neighbours walking their dogs or taking in the breathtaking scenery of the rest of the city from their quiet neighbouring forest. She climbs higher still on the hill and a dark cloud looms over her. She very foolishly begins to take pictures of the landscape before her, and slowly makes her way down the hill when she hears an omnimous sound behind her. She turns to see a blanket of pouring rain gradually making its way towards her and she begins to run. She is alone in the open field and makes for the forest of trees. Before she is completely drenched, she manages to turn her phone off, and take the only protection she has from the rain, her pashmina scarf, and wrap it around her head and camera. She doesn't outrun the elements and is completely soaked in her t-shirt and jeans. She wonders if she should wait under a tree until the rain subsides, and just as she tries to find shelter, lightening strikes above her head and in a spot very close to her. Her question is answered and she runs home for dear life, only to reach her front door when the rain finally stops.
Her mind then hits another image, an afternoon spring sun hitting a cherry tree in full bloom. A gentle breeze hits the tree and a spray of petals rains down onto the pavement. As she walks down the street there are rows of cherry trees and the pavements are covered in the delicate, pink petals, almost snow like without the cold. But nothing seems more magnificent than the deafening silence of a street covered in real snow. The muted life that exists when it is enveloped by this powdery magnificance. The sensation of lying in the snow and listening to nothing is truly awesome. Then being able to look up from her backgarden to find a fox jumping up and down in the field behind her, looking for prey makes her feel truly connected to nature.
She sits there with a curious smile on her face as her eyes remain glazed over. Being drawn into memories that she would never want to part with. She is finally home.
Winter has set upon London with its biting, gale-force winds, and although it is dogged by its rainy days, the spectacular sunny days more than make up for it, especially when walking over one of the many bridges that cross the Thames. The sun hitting her face in such a gentle fashion that it warms her only slightly even though she is rather toasty in her black drummer boy coat. It's days like these that make her wish she had cropped hair to feel the chilling wind through it and brush against her scalp. She recoils slightly when she remembers the terrible gales she had to endure when she walked through Regents Park one gloomy Sunday. She'd fastened her coat so high up, that all could be seen was the crown of her head. Being a tiny frame she was walking almost horizontal as she tried to make her way to the Hub, walking against the force of the wind.
Her eyes glaze over more as she remember the long walk she had along the South Bank one wonderful Sunday in the summer. It was a sunny summer's day, a rare one that year, and particularly pleasant walking along the Thames with an even more pleasant Scotsman who had such an affection for art and life. Walking through the crowds that had gathered round the Cuban festival that was taking place that day, finding the Banksy jewels that were strewn across the walls of the Tower Hamlets, as they walked to Embankment. She remembered how much she loved listening to his stories, holding his hand and watching the crowds bustle by.
Suddenly, in her mind's eye she sees a ray of light hitting a green, grassy hill, with apple and pear trees strewn around. Fruits ripening on the trees and so tempting to pick as she watches her neighbours walking their dogs or taking in the breathtaking scenery of the rest of the city from their quiet neighbouring forest. She climbs higher still on the hill and a dark cloud looms over her. She very foolishly begins to take pictures of the landscape before her, and slowly makes her way down the hill when she hears an omnimous sound behind her. She turns to see a blanket of pouring rain gradually making its way towards her and she begins to run. She is alone in the open field and makes for the forest of trees. Before she is completely drenched, she manages to turn her phone off, and take the only protection she has from the rain, her pashmina scarf, and wrap it around her head and camera. She doesn't outrun the elements and is completely soaked in her t-shirt and jeans. She wonders if she should wait under a tree until the rain subsides, and just as she tries to find shelter, lightening strikes above her head and in a spot very close to her. Her question is answered and she runs home for dear life, only to reach her front door when the rain finally stops.
Her mind then hits another image, an afternoon spring sun hitting a cherry tree in full bloom. A gentle breeze hits the tree and a spray of petals rains down onto the pavement. As she walks down the street there are rows of cherry trees and the pavements are covered in the delicate, pink petals, almost snow like without the cold. But nothing seems more magnificent than the deafening silence of a street covered in real snow. The muted life that exists when it is enveloped by this powdery magnificance. The sensation of lying in the snow and listening to nothing is truly awesome. Then being able to look up from her backgarden to find a fox jumping up and down in the field behind her, looking for prey makes her feel truly connected to nature.
She sits there with a curious smile on her face as her eyes remain glazed over. Being drawn into memories that she would never want to part with. She is finally home.
Labels: Autumn, excitment, happy, home, life, London, memories, nature, research, snow, Spring, Summer, sunny day, weather, Winter
posted by Lunar Chick @ 4:29 pm
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home