The end of April, the week after the holiday honouring the resurrection in the Christian tradition, i had to myself, a trip of my own. The starting day was marked with an estimated billion viewers of the royal wedding held in London, broadcasted even to the peoples of Malaysia; there is no bigger an occasion for my visiting as a guest, a host in the South West of England.
I barely missed the train towards Bristol, as the one that took me from Coventry was to my dismay, a London Midlands train, known for its slow trips, even to those as short a journey as Birmingham stations. Heart pumping heavily from the bit of rush, i drew back into my own, carried away by what classical pieces i had with me, until drowsiness took me, and sleep overcame my conscious moments.
Later, i was mildly surprised by the pleasant view presented to me in a way that an instant wakefulness took hold of me, and the eyes made constant sweeps of the view to imbue it for later comfort. Yellow fields, one of the sights i most desire to take for my own, having altogether none captured for my personal (photography) collection, spread like vast ocean, the rapeseed together forming a gentle dance, and the winds their master choreographer. The countryside, a good escape to the view i take in every single day.
Arrived at tea-time as planned, Jonathan and Gill welcomed me, driving me back to their little house that has sheltered their family for more than 20 years, near Frenchay. The brewing of tea afterwards marked the commencement of my two nights’ stay at their place; my being a guest .
Posted on May 3, 2011
0