The Colour of Spring
Waiting for the colour of spring.Let me breathe… – Talk Talk, April 5th. A hot, pale blue sky arches over … Continue reading The Colour of Spring
Tag: Travel Writing
The Girl in the Doorway
Later, I see a plaque. Carved stone, old, official. Two characters: “Civilisation endures.” I do not know what to do with these two things: the girl, the plaque. But they belong together. They must. Continue reading The Girl in the Doorway
High Tide on Luoyang Qiao
The tide is coming in. It does not rush. It never rushes. But it is relentless; a slow, patient rising … Continue reading High Tide on Luoyang Qiao
WHERE THE PRAIRIES MEET THE MOUNTAINS
At Waterton Lakes National Park–a landscape of perpendicular mountains and deep, glacial lakes on the eastern edge of the Canadian … Continue reading WHERE THE PRAIRIES MEET THE MOUNTAINS
Heat and Dust
On the overpasses, cars crawl through the mirage, each one a sealed bubble of air-conditioned defiance. But the city doesn’t care. The heat is indifferent, eternal. It radiates from the concrete, rises in waves from the road, presses down from above: a three-dimensional sauna of light and dust. Somewhere behind all that sun-glare, the desert waits, unchanged and unimpressed. Continue reading Heat and Dust
Sim City
The Burj Khalifa points into the sky like a Qibla compass, its needle turned upwards towards Allah (Subḥānahu wa taʿālā). … Continue reading Sim City
The Liberty Timbers
But it’s not one that a Jack Tar would recognise. Instead of oakham, gunpowder smoke, tobacco and rum, I can smell oak polish, high-end perfume, old wood, and new money. It’s a curious blend, like Chanel No.5 dabbed behind the ears of Admiral Nelson. Continue reading The Liberty Timbers
The Riddle of the Stones
The hills rise behind Abergavenny like a wall built by giants, steep, green, and unyielding. They are the town’s backdrop … Continue reading The Riddle of the Stones
The Shard
The glass blade of The Shard glitters above me, slicing into a flawless July sky. From street level, its steel ribs and glass facets look impossibly steep, tapering into a vanishing point so sharp it could pierce flesh. I pause beneath its mirrored flank, framed by the leaves of a London plane tree, and feel the familiar Southwark hum: the rattle of trains, the cries from Borough Market, the old bones of the city pressed up against this gleaming newcomer. Continue reading The Shard
The Tower of Gaucín
Climbing through the old gate, the heat is instant and enveloping. The stones radiate the morning’s stored warmth; lizards dart along the ramparts. I follow the rough path upward to the bell tower, where a single bronze bell hangs under a weathered brick arch. Continue reading The Tower of Gaucín
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