A Month of Sundays

Hitting the Streets. 

The other day, I took a commemorative city walk to celebrate the one-month anniversary of my landing in London. Yes, odd as it is to say, I have been here a month of Sundays, or so it seems. I remember my first walk through these streets, the awe and wonder at this ancient, green giant rising up ahead of me. Each street felt like its own town, I would get off the tube and walk to and fro as if I had been teleported to a parallel universe... Oxford Circus opened up a retail paradise,  Piccadilly Circus revealed Soho, Victoria Station became the 'Kensington portal'. Only recently did this image of a fragmented city of neighborhoods give way to the cohesive, spirited, and utterly walkable city that is London. I feel I have become a student of the city rather than a real student. The groove of classes and papers still doesn't fit, only the groove of ambling streets and twisting river. At the same time, I have become acutely aware that whoever said "to be tired of London is to be tired of life" hit the nail on the head, metaphorically speaking, of course. The more I study the streets and their inhabitants, the more mysterious the city becomes. Though the neighborhoods now connect, woven together in a sort of fabric, they still hold thousands of untold 'London particulars.'

the photographer. 

My first month of Sundays at a close, yet the season of firsts  certainly is not. For each of the firsts in I have had in my time here- there are a hundred more waiting in those endless avenues. Camera in hand, I venture once unto the breach. 

Joi, 
Michaelanne{gelo}