Above the city loose patchworks of cloud unfolded, none threatening the slightest rain, and gave spots of shade to people on the sidewalks making their ways to work. From where I stood the sky was bright, even though the sun was mostly hidden by tufts of white and lighter grey.

Beneath the choppy sea of sky the city shone like rough-cut crystal still embedded in the earth, sharp and gleaming as sporadic bands of sun cut through the day. And I watched the afternoon unravel loosely over concentrated masses of architecture cropped only by the horizon.

Well above the city, all I heard was wind, as if the air itself was scouring the noise so that it wouldn’t have to hear the pitch that drove up from the streets, the rabble of complaint that rose from underneath the buried earth to lose its voice amid the glass and steal.

Muted by the wind, I felt the need to speak but it was futile, the words just formless motions falling lost from bitten lips, signals incoherent and caught up in atmospheres where meaning came from larger signs than I could comprehend.

And below, the city cackled unaware that everything it said was silent, all it uttered useless in the end, every story ending in the same dénouement high above where wind reclaimed its voice and quelled the arguments we’ve made.

All the glass and metal still was glinting in the intermittent spears of sun that through the light pastiche of clouds were scattered and dispersed. A sad and lovely landscape flashing upward, ignorant that all it said was said in vain.

#london #england #stpauls

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