Friday, 19 August 2011
Outside existing time seems stretched, swimmingly, smoothly. I could be elsewhere.
In a garden of my childhood beneath shadowy trees, espying swallows swooping, swirling, drowsily hearing sheep bleating, and the rising falling 'peep-peep' of the swallows call as they fish the balmy air.
Or with unalloyed happiness sitting at a table in Bryant Park, New York, under a sunny lemon umbrella. Blissfully transported by the garden of gravel paths and calm amidst the frenetic city of boundless energy and excitement.