Wednesday, 8 October 2008

A reaction to light

A looking glass sun broke across Cambridge this morning and split the proverbial peaks of the dreaming spires, not too dissimilar in my imagination to that experienced by mountain climbers when the heavens are pinged by the pristine rays of the rising sun. Maybe I am over egging the mornings experience, but to quote Tom Waits 'When the thunderstorms start increasing over the south east and south central portions of my apartment, I get upset.' I think you catch my drift, the weather systems of late have been a bit grim. Anyway, todays golden egg peeled back a sparkling veil of dew from the grass and to make matters more enjoyable I disturbed a graceful Grey Wagtail from the water channels at the centre of the college, its long tail pumping up and down as it chased flies at the waters edge. To mow the grass here I have to navigate the orange juice and croissants in the college bar. It was nice to see small posies of flowers on each table, picked by the students who are now helping themselves the late summer/autumn blooms in the garden. On days like this I like to watch the procession of bikes along Huntingdon Road. A constant stream of students and working people beetling off to their morning lectures or office desks. I often think how much nicer this very busy road into the heart of the city would be without cars, something those enlightened Danes are already working on in Copenhagen. Instead of the car wash that has replaced the defunct Texaco garage, how about an all day breakfast bar and coffee house called something like 'Once brewed' or 'Twice brewed', both of which happen to be names of small villages along the roman wall in rural Northumberland. Liquidamber styraciflua 'Worplesdon', which is planted on the college boundary, has taken on the autumnal hues of a New England covered bridge(see above photo), the sun illuminates the whole garden and overhead I am beginning to hear the flight calls of Skylarks as they pass overhead. The field guide describes this sound with a single word 'prrlyh', not very romantic I know, but it floats my boat as I struggle to spot them high up in the cloudless blue.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

I am delighted by the morning all the more when I think of your turn of phrase "pinged by the pristine rays of the rising sun"! This is how I too feel when I throw open the windows of my little cupboard-abode to gaze over the magnolia bush and across the early autumn sky. Thank you.