…in a place called Stow-On-The-Wold, the sound of bells chimed twice, and again, five times. Oh! What it must have been like when this sound kept time for the people of the village. Was I in such a deep sleep they couldn’t be heard upon every hour?
Earlier in the eve, venturing off down the village, a friendly footpath was found. The trail lined with Queen Anne Lace and trees, crossed through the woods from one road to the other that ran parallel. It was getting late, but the day after the solstice placed the sun higher in the sky, giving plenty of light. With so much light, the ticking of the clock and passing of time hardly matter in the evening hours.
Continuing on to the village, through a narrow passage along the Baptist church established in 1852, there was a courtyard, with a wall. On the inside a row of tombstones were lined up along the perimeter. Some were huge, incised with well defined letters, others were so terribly worn away that only a few shapes of the cursive could be made out with the human eye. I ran my hand across the surface hoping I could make out some name or date, but no. Then, down the road there was another cemetery, quite large in size, closed until the break of another day. The 23rd, came to an end.
Now, in the morning, the cars can be heard rushing by the window of the room, which lies a bare foot from the road. My wild imagination makes me fear the possibility of a drunk colliding in the night with a car. One more here, I’ll just put that out of my mind. I will listen for the bells to ring once more.
The best view of Big Ben is had from the Westminster Bridge. One can see the magnificence of the entire structure looking down river. Across the other way is a view of the monumental ferris wheel.
The day was pleasant, the sky gray, many steps were made starting at Montague Street by the British museum down to Buckingham palace, meandering back up through the quaint streets of London through Covent Garden, much to see along the way.
Like any big city of interest many people are from other lands, but if you look somewhat confused with a map in your hand usually a Londoner will come along and offer their help. In general the Londoners are extremely open, friendly and curious about you, especially when they hear your american accent. Their spirit is genuine. They appreciate a tip but it isn’t the reason they serve.
Why do some places just pop out at me? Can’t be sure, but this is one of them. On a street in North London, I found this incredibly intriguing doorway. It’s so electrical! The name on the entrance called my attention and then I go to looking at the whole scene. The decoration over the top and down the sides is in the shape of coils. Above are seen sharp little spikes. I would call this classically contemporary. Quite benign and unique!
Traveling is an adventure. When you have a destination in mind the getting there can be wrought with interesting sights, such as these urban landscapes. The living spaces stacked upon one another in the apartment building of the Bronx seems an inhumane way of existence. Growing up in a small midwestern town, I was amazed when I went away to college and met people who actually grew up in New York City. Their way of life fascinated me and my social mind wanted to know the ins and outs of their daily lives. The image recalls stories I found in books my mother brought home for me when I was in High School, like “Manchild in a Promised Land,” by Claude Brown. It was about the struggle for one young man trying to make something of himself, amidst the violence and adverse living conditions in Harlem. A fight imposed upon an adolescent like myself, for the simple reason he was black. I admired his persistence and desire to be something other than a casualty in the street. Memories of the past, and experience in the present converge. I was inspired to take these photographs, while our car sped along the interstate on the way to JFK.