A Winter's Day.

I like to feel anonymous in a city of strangers and customers in the street. Today I need to cross over Cooks Gardens which is steep going on a likable pavement. At the top I draw my long black coat tight around the waist, against the cold wind. In the middle distance is St. Paul's, a church of redbrick certainties for a few. Below me is the eight-lane cinder track where a few lonely figures are out training. The four floodlight towers are just there, like silent spectators at a long-lost cricket match; a light shining in the darkness at a day-night game. St. Paul's, though, may well be the Light of the World. -July,2016.