BETWEEN FOUR JUNCTIONS

On foggy nights, hearing foghorns’ muffled, mournful booming, on summer mornings, seeing belligerent seagulls strutting the streets,

I am glad to know the sea is nearby, lapping at my mind.

Siren Song

In these Covid times, I listen to the chatter: we are, apparently, yearning to flee the city. The siren song of the suburbs calls to us: find somewhere green, quiet, safe.

We spurn the thrum of city streets, the buzz, the charge, for the blandishments of birdsong –apparently. Off you go then. Leave the city to us, the stalwarts.

On the bus, on the Marylebone Road, I see the London plane trees either side: thin, sour soil, dirty air, impure rain –yet see how they thrive!