The Lake District: A Letter to Mum

Fig A.


Dear Mom,

My goodness, I haven't written in a while because we've been gone all week touring the lake district and the north of England. It changed my life. Seriously! It was absolutely amazing. This trip was pretty much all the reasons I decided to come to England in one blow: to go to the places writers lived and saw, to see the places imagined in my favorite books, and to drown in the history and culture--past and present--of England. And I wasn't disappointed! I learned all I wanted to, felt powerful feelings I'd merely hoped for, and it was just . . . amazing.

Disclaimer: This email is EXTREMELY long, and almost takes the form of a journal entry. If you get bored, just skim it and nod and smile. :)

Monday, we left early and went to Haworth, to visit the Bronte parsonage (where Emily, Charlotte and Anne Bronte lived and wrote their novels). (see Fig A) It was incredible to feel that, and to realize where they were and what kinds of inspirations drove their art. I cried when we left, it was so powerful--I didn't want to leave! It was heart-wrenching to go to these places I've dreamed of so long, and then be ripped along to see the next big site. That day we also went to York (old York, not New York) and saw York Minster, which was yet another huge and beautiful cathedral similar to Canterbury in age and design. I saw Evensong there, with one of the most beautiful choirs I've ever heard--it was mostly children, but there were enough mature voices to give it body. With those beautiful acoustics? It was dazzling, and gave me chills.

The next day we went to Fountains Abbey--an old ruined medieval monastery. It was SO beautiful! Picture a grand cathedral, but picture it . . . with no roof. The walls crumbling and dripping with moss. The floor covered in soft green grass, and birds roosting in its tower. I couldn't help but be reminded of God's great glory and strength in comparison to the ephemeral might of man. It was so beautiful! And it was also interesting to see the floorplan without all the distracting ornamentation. To see how they worshiped, and in what rooms and structures it would have taken place. It was really interesting.

Later that day we checked into another youth hostel with a remarkable view. Photographs cheapen it--they can't possibly express the sharp beauty and wonder of that softly rolling scene. Everyone else hopped back on the bus to wander about the little town of Windermere. I stayed behind, and went on a long walk by myself through the British countryside. There are walls EVERYWHERE there, for livestock, and some have been there hundreds of years. They're designed to cage in livestock, and they still complete their purpose--there are sheep and cows everywhere. A real dry stone wall doesn't have mortar at all. Did you know that? No mortar--just rocks stacked up on top of one another, and it lasts hundreds of years. They were so beautiful, criss-crossing the landscape like that. Oh, and mysterious archways on the sides of the road, with staircases leading up to secret glades . . . I'm pretty sure I did a bit of mild trespassing, but I didn't have the huge group with me, so it was forgivable, if not exactly sanctioned. I wandered down a tire-track road until it ended at a gate, and there I tried to describe the sight. It was dazzling, Mom. Simply beautiful--you would have loved it, I know. I also climbed to the top of an ancient, moss-covered tree, which was great fun. On my way back, I picked and ate a couple of wild blackberries. THIS is the sort of thing I daydreamed of doing when I wished to come to England!

The next morning, I rose and went to the balcony by myself to gaze across the misty morning landscape and compose a couple of poems. Does that not sound just like me? Oh, dear. I'm such an awful romantic.

Wednesday (that day) we went to Dove Cottage in the Lake District. That's where William Wordsworth wrote some of his very most famous poetry! It was amazing to see the location that inspired some of the most beautiful words in the English language. It stirred my heart, and I felt so very alive! Determined to read more poetry, more Bronte . . . to take me back to that place that I instantly fell in love with. I forgot to mention that we stopped in a little town called Pateley Bridge for lunch on our way to the hostel that day. Picture a charming British village, with stone houses, pastry shops, hanging bunches of flowers everywhere. With friendly people, whose accents make your ears ring a little in a delightful way. THAT is the town of Pateley Bridge. it's just like I'd always imagined one of those cute little towns would be. Except better. Oh, Mommy--this trip really is a dream come true for me. Can you tell?

After Dove Cottage, we drove through the lake district for a couple of hours. I wish I hadn't been mildly carsick, because the views were dazzling, and none of my photographs come close to how beautiful it was. Then we went to Hilltop Farm, where Beatrix Potter lived after becoming famous from her books. No wonder she so desperately wanted to save that land! It was so lovely there. The gardens of her home were beautiful, and the hills were so green, and picturesque, with their grazing sheep. After crossing on the ferry again, we ambled around the town of Ambleside, and hung out at our youth hostel that evening. It was RIGHT on the shore of lake Windermere--I dunked my toes in the water that night, while I gazed at the stars from the pier. The constant cover of fluffy gray clouds vanished for a while, and I got a clear view of the stars--the big dipper, the milky way, even. Fluffy clouds during the day, clear for stars at night? Ah. Life was complete.

On Thursday we toured the city of Preston for various church history sites (that's where Heber C. Kimball and Orson Pratt and them first came and converted people to the gospel.) It was neat. We also went driving around the Ribble River valley, to Ribchester, Chatburn and Downham, for other church history sites. Then Chorley, to see the temple. It's difficult to describe how seeing the temple made me feel. Since I've been here, I have had the chance to see many glorious religious structures--a sikh gurdwara, hindu mandir, a cathedral, a minster, a beautiful greek orthodox chapel, and a ruined abbey. All of them were completely beautiful and took my breath away, leaving me with a feeling of awe.
NONE of those, and I'll repeat: NONE of those even came close to the feeling of standing in front of the Preston temple. The feeling emanating from within that simple stone structure was one of peace. Of home. And most importantly? Of my Father in Heaven's love for me. It was an incredible experience, and I learned a lot from it.

The next morning we were in Liverpool, and I went to the Beatles museum, which was awesome--Beatle origins! I love the Beatles. And now I can tell the difference between John Lennon and Paul McCartney, at least. :)

Later that day, we went to Chatsworth, which is the big house where they filmed Pemberly in the Keira Knightley version of Pride and Prejudice. Can you even imagine my raptures? That's my favorite book in the world! It was so pretty! But such a rich, sumptuous home. I'm pretty sure I would get tired of it. I'd infinitely prefer a little rose-covered cottage somewhere.

I miss you, as always.

Love,

Mary-Celeste

Southall

Written inside Sikh gurdwara: Inside this gurdwara, I feel something very like the spirit. I feel as positive as one can ever be that these people will be exalted for their devotion and goodness. In the main circular part of the temple, I like the white cloth covering the floors. It feels like very sacred ground, and all the people there genuinely respect that. The architecture is beautiful, but understated, calling attention to the one decorative thing in the room: the shrine where their holy book rests. Golden, and beautiful, the people come to kneel in front of it. My favorite sight was seeing a young father help teach his toddler to kneel at the book as well. Mormons and Sikhs really do have a lot in common. I find myself with a profound reverence and respect. There is some kind of service ever happening—a woman's voice reading scripture in a tongue foreign to me. Punjabi?

I love to see the orthodox Sikh men in their turbans and beard-twists, wearing modern clothes. The women's traditional clothing is beautiful, modest, and not flashy. Its appeal doesn't lie in a tight fit or low neckline, but in its simply beautiful ornamentation. It doesn't strike me as vain—it's just another part of their worship. Beautiful, modest, simply adorned women I feel is an ideal both Sikhs and Mormons share. There are glass booths with numbers on them. I wonder what they're for.

In the gurdwara, I walked up the aisle and placed coins in the offering box, kneeling and touching my forehead to the ground as I saw other people do. After leaving, we went down the stairs and ate lunch. A free meal, known as langar, is served at every gurdwara around the world, no questions asked. The food was delicious, and it tasted even better to me knowing that it was given to me with no expectation of return. I felt very conscious of that fact, and very grateful. I went and helped wash trays after lunch, until we went in for the question and answer session.

We were all required to cover our heads in the gurdwara:

The Hindi Mandir were very different. The first was very small, for one, but there were the same white coverings on the floor as in the gurdwara. There were statues of their gods all around. An older man came up to us and began telling us the story of Krishna and others, to be kind. Sadly, I could not understand most of what he told us. The statues were beautiful, and very grandly decorated. It strikes me as being less modest in ornamentation than the Sikh temple and women. There are things on their foreheads—not just the dots I'm used to seeing, but stripes and gemstones. The people that come in to worship put coins in at the front, and bow, though most did not kneel and touch their forehead to the ground. Many waved their hand over the small flame of the candle burning and then touched their head. All of them prayed silently, though occasionally I could hear a murmured prayer.

Inside the first Hindu mandir, with images of various gods.

This is one of their gods, who I believe is called Ganesha.

After the temples, we wandered the roads of Southall on the way to the Indian restaurant. I especially loved looking at all the beautiful women's clothing and jewelry. The saris and punjabi suits came in many different cuts and styles. I ended up buying a simple green punjabi suit and it was really interesting how much extra attention I got from middle eastern men. (A lot of them flirted with me, far more than had while I was wearing American street clothes. When I went to see Peter Pan, an older Sikh gentleman stopped me and told me he and I were the only two properly dressed people in the room. It was fun.) Many of the outfits at the stores had very elaborate, beautiful beading on them that I admired. If the same beading quality were done in America or London, it would have easily cost four times more! The jewelry was intricate and the earrings were all large and very heavy. There were beautiful scarves and head wraps. The pastry shops had all kinds of things I've never heard of or seen before—I wish I could have tasted all of them! They looked good!

There were so many beautiful dresses and other types of beautifully beaded Indian clothing I looked at--it was dazzling! I know for a fact that all of it, though still expensive, was tremendously underpriced for the quality of the beadwork done. The same type of beading done in America would cost hundreds and hundreds--often even thousands!--of dollars.

I ended up purchasing, shortly before leaving, one of those sticky fried orange things. I don't remember what it was called, but it was tasty, and I enjoyed it.

The Indian food at the restaurant was divine! I can't believe I've never really discovered Indian food before. The flavors all intertwined in complicated ways. It was all delicious. I can't wait to eat more Indian food! Southall was an amazing experience for me.

Dover and Canterbury

For this blog, the pictures are first, followed by text, which will refer you back to the pictures. (I'm having struggles with being technically savvy.)
Fig A.
Fig B.
Fig C.
Fig D.

This is the extended version of the field notes I took during the excursion:

The British countryside of Kent was absolutely beautiful to drive through. It was just as I'd imagined it, with its dense patches of green wood, and its gently rolling fields. The castle, up high on those dazzling white cliffs, was truly a sight to see. It's all I imagined a castle would be!—with just a few differences here and there. (See Fig D.)

Formerly, there was a moat, that I can only imagine would have been a beast to get by. The outer walls were enormous, and I can see how a large village could easily wedge all its people in one of these castles in a pinch. The arrow slit things were big and angled on the inside, which I wasn't expecting. It's cooler than the simple slender hole in the wall I was envisioning. You could fit at least a couple archers in one of those things.

All the various bits of the castle were built in different times. From the lighthouse (100 A.D., built in Roman times!) to sections from the WWII era added as extra fortification against Hitler, there were all sorts of parts that came together to make the whole we now see. The keep was built from 1181-1188 A.D., by Henry II. The keep was the part most similar to what I imagine when I think of a castle in the context of fairytales and things. The differences were that it was made of a rougher hewn stone, it was a bit more cramped, and there was a dank, wet smell I hadn't quite expected. Also, the Great Hall was so small! I'd always imagined a cavernous structure suitable for a grand ball, but I now know this was wrong. It was larger than the other, much smaller rooms, but it was still quite small. I think it's smaller than the writers of some of those novels imagined, since there's no way some of the described events could have fit in there!

The roof of the keep, with its battlements, was magnificent! A stunning view of all that lies within the outer castle walls, as well as rich Kent panoramas (the garden of England), the busy shipping center of Dover port, and in the distance, the French shore across the English channel. (By the way, why do we call it the English channel, as it's shared evenly with France?) It blows my mind that someone could swim all that way—it's huge. (See Fig. A)

At the little seafood stand near the pier, I tried a whelk. I felt very adventurous. It was rubbery and salty, and I wasn't terribly fond of it, but I ate it without losing it or spitting it out, which I was proud of. I also ate a crayfish tail, which was interesting, since the only other crawfish I've eaten have been in Louisiana, where they come from considerably less salty water. The shore was rocky, not sandy, with lots of mussel shells. Yet another difference that I find charming.

At Canterbury, I learned all kinds of interesting facts. For one, I learned the story of Thomas a Becket's murder in more detail—that the man whose actor-counterpart we'd just left at Dover had accidentally had him killed! Henry II came back later, after Thomas's death, to wear a hare shirt and let himself be whipped by the monks, in penance.

• Thomas a Becket's ghost is supposedly a black stain in the crypt on one of the pillars. It's in the shape of a monk and it refuses to be scrubbed off, no matter how hard people have tried.

• Monks living in the Monastary affixed to the cathedral didn't drink the water, because it was filthy. They all just drank alcohol. (See Fig B.--Monks' old quarters and gardens)
  

• Henry IV was the only king to be buried at Canterbury. His wife is buried there, as well. In the Victorian times, some doubted that it really and truly was Henry, so they broke open his tomb and took a look. It was.

• The Black Prince of Wales is also buried in the cathedral, and has a shrine for himself just across from Henry IV, in the quire. He was a well-loved English champion against the French. Apparently, it's still a sore spot for French visitors in the Cathedral, the tour guide told us.

• An archbishop with his tomb in the quire (the one that started All Soul's at Oxford) had an awesome shrine that's brightly painted and well-maintained. His elaborate effigy lies on top, robed in bright colors. Beneath that sculpture lies a statue of a gaunt corpse, as if to say we all go to the same death, no matter how glorious we were in life. I thought it a very humble gesture, and I admired it very much.

• The spacious nave (main, central aisle of the cathedral) was rebuilt in the 1400s, after burning and collapsing just before then.

• This site at Canterbury has been a holy place for a long time—there was even a Roman church there long ago that's been built over.

• Hardly any of the monks caught the Black Death because of their clean water system—they caught drain water and pumped it into the bathroom of the monastery. Because the monks stayed clean, they stayed well.

• The Americans contributed a great deal to the cathedral's reconstuction during the 20^th century, especially after World War two. The cathedral added little sculptures built into a corner, of an eagle, an elephant, and a donkey.

• In 1982, pope John Paul II and the then-current archbishop of Canterbury prayed together at the present shrine to Thomas, where he's thought to have been killed. I thought that was nice.

• Many miracles happened to pilgrims visiting Thomas's tomb, like healings of the sick or blessings of fertility. The blessings were gotten by simply touching the shrine and donating to the monks. However, if you didn't properly pay your tribute, the monks would often threaten to take away your miracle. (How that works, I don't know.)

• It's believed that one of the original tombs of St. Thomas had holes in the side, so one could actually see or touch the interred bones of the martyr, strengthening its power to heal.

• They still have a lot of weddings, receptions, and funerals at the cathedral. The ceremonies are held in one of the larger chapels of the crypt, and receptions are generally in the chapter house.

• The quire (formerly, the exclusive chapel for the monks and those closely associated to the church) was even more beautiful than the nave! It was just for monks until King Henry the eight's dissolution of the monasteries. Thanks for that! It was beautiful. (See Fig. C)
  

• A magnificent pipe organ is built seamlessly into the architecture, looking just like pillars. It blends perfectly with the building itself. I wish I could hear it play! The tour guide says it's incredible to hear.

• All the ceilings in the nave, quire, and chapels were once brightly painted. Now it's just plain stone.

Going to Dover and Canterbury was an fun, interesting, educational time. It was truly a very special experience for me.

Photo Journal from day one through the city walk

So much of London can never be described by words. Pictures are often more accurate, but even they seem to fall so very short. Here are a few pictures, newest to oldest, that depict a few sites from Big Ben to Charing Cross road. They would never say "watch your step," and now that I think on it, it may be too personal. Using the impersonal "the," rather than "your," seems more polite and distant, as many suppose the Brits to be (including the Brits themselves). They say, "Mind the gap," and "Mind the doors." It does have a nice ring to it, I think.


I especially liked the quote on the side of the building: "I went to see Major General Harrison Hung Drawn and Quartered. He was looking as cheerful as any man could in that condition."


Roman Mithras temple foundation, circa 200 A.D. It thrills me to see things that are so old here! It's hard to fathom that people were walking around on this spot so long ago, building structures that live to tell their tales. Seeing this temple made me want to learn more about the ancient Roman Mithras religion.


I found the St. Mary le Bow chapel to be a beautiful sight. I thought the sign outside was a little unusual when taken out of context, though: "The place below: fresh food from the crypt."


This was at the intersection of Charing Cross road, which I read about in Harry Potter, I believe. The Leaky Cauldron was on this road. Also, it is famous for the bookshops all along it.


The British Museum was unbelievable--I had to run past far too many things I've always wanted to see! I'm determined to go back and spend a solid day or two there. I want to see the Elgin marbles, and really study the Egyptian section thoroughly, as well as their Ancient Asian section. There are so many things to learn there!

Westminster bridge and Big Ben. We went the very first day I arrived, and it all felt so surreal, to be seeing places I'd only read of. My mother said this picture looked like a postcard.

It's a little bit sad that even Bayswater and Notting Hill Gate can start to look ordinary to me. Here's a shot shortly after arriving, in the rain. It really is extraordinary, even though we pass it daily.

I am having a wonderful time so far in London. Looking through my pictures helps me to fathom just how incredible some of the sights I've been seeing really are. I know I'll treasure them always.

Letters to Mum

Nearly every day I've been in England, I've written my mother a detailed entry of the day's events. The emails to her have become an informal diary, since I've found I have less time for diary writing than I usually do. I know I'll treasure these someday. In the meantime, they will make an excellent addition to my blog while here in England, I think.

*Note: Letters have been substantially edited, with the sillier bits of personal information removed, leaving only the narrative and insights behind.

9/2/09:

Mum, ;)

I actually do feel curiously at home here. After we had dinner (which was delicious) a few other girls and I went on a bit of an adventure. We caught the tube to Westminster bridge and saw the eye (huge ferris wheel) and Big Ben and the parliament building. We also went to Oxford circus for a moment or two. It was fun, and it was nice to get to know some of the girls a little better.

I love you, Mom. I'll be keeping you posted.

Mary-Celeste


2-9-09:

Hi MC,

I hope you are asleep and don’t get this until morning.

It might make a very nice semester abroad journal to send an email to me each day telling about what you did that day. Besides, I’m very curious.

Karen says hello.

Love, Mom

9/3/09

Mommy,

Beware: this is a very very long email.

So, today I went to the British Museum and the National Gallery. It was AMAZING! There were at least half a dozen times I thought I'd just burst out crying. It was hard to keep my mouth shut. The Rosetta Stone, Mom--the ROSETTA STONE! I saw it! It was wonderful to see these things in person that I've only read about in the past. Almost like receiving a personal witness from the spirit even though you believed the testimony of those gone before. It's nice to know it's real. I didn't have much time to look around, but I also got to see ancient Mesopotamian carvings (Babylonian and Assyrian) and the trappings from the tomb of an early Anglo-Saxon king, which was very, very interesting. Also, I saw a few mummies, and I glanced in the Persian section--the jewelry was to die for! And I was so absorbed looking at all of this stuff that it took me a while to notice that a really really cute guy was checking me out. (Which, for me, is impressive.)

At the National Gallery, I saw . . . oh, at least half a dozen paintings I've studied or read up on and only ever seen before in books. Just one after another! It was . . . mind-boggling. I seriously almost cried. Caravaggio, Mum! And Rubens! Van Eyck, Raphael, Degas, Renoir, Seurat . . . beautiful. Bacchus and Ariadne, the Judgment of Paris, Samson and Delilah--Mom! It was incredible, and almost a surreal experience, those paintings were already so close to my heart. To see them in person stirred something in the pit of my stomach that I believe can only be remedied by standing in front of each of them for at least twenty minutes. I can't wait to go back. I plan to do so often--both the British Museum and the Gallery. It only took 20 minutes to get there by tube, and since both galleries are free and I have a tube pass, I'm going to go as often as I can. I didn't even see a fraction of what I want to see.

Trafalgar square, Charing Cross road and station, the theater district . . . all these sights keep rushing past me--too quickly to truly appreciate or understand them all. But I still feel at home. Getting better at crossing the street. I'm excited to keep trying new things. There are lots of different foods and restaurants I'm dying to try. Queensway, just a few blocks from here, is a famous street just COVERED in different restaurants--Indian, Chinese, Italian, European, Middle Eastern, and lots more. I want to eat fish and chips and some good curry, waffles, kebabs, chinese, and so much more! Food is such a good way to drink in other cultures.

Sunday evening, two gentlemen came and spoke to us about the wards we'll be in, and the bishop that visited gave us a very funny crash course on how to politely speak to a Brit. Their customs are so different! Saying, "Hi, My name is . . ." is just about the worst thing you can do--it invades their privacy. Their conversation is more of a delicate dance than a full-on American tackle. Dancing around the subject, beating around the bush . . . these all originated in England. And this is something I'll need to work on--being demure, I mean, and not being too forward. I know I have that side of me somewhere, but I need to let her out while I'm here. I'm unusually friendly and personal even for an American.

I wanted to thank you again. Thank you, Mom. I love you so much.

Mary-Celeste

PS- A bunch of the girls are talking about going to see an extremely highly rated production of Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens. It sounds incredible--I hope we can go!

9/4/09

Mum,

Today we had our class intros. My classes look wonderful! I just went to the intro classes today for the ones I'll be taking, and each one seems incredible. None are too difficult or require too much work, which is ideal, as I'll mostly be exploring the city and countryside, learning all I can from all I see. My literature class? I just discovered twenty minutes ago that this literature class is exactly the reason I've come to England. The entire class is about how the literature is affected by the setting in which its written. We'll be reading things like Beowulf, Coleridge, Wordsworth, Bronte, Chaucer, Forster . . . and going to the actual locations where the stories were written/took place!!! I nearly cried, my heart felt so alive. :) My classes all require a considerable amount of studying, but it's all do-able, and they're mostly focused on us gleaning all we can while in London.

Today I went on a couple of different walks. This afternoon I walked "the city" (what people around here call the financial district). I saw the bank of England, the Duke of Wellington's statue, London bridge, the tower bridge, St Mary's church, St Paul's cathedral, Cheapside, Gracechurch street (I couldn't help but think of Aunt and Uncle Gardner!), the mithras temple, and the great gherkin, among other things. It was a long walk!

After dinner, I went on a walk by myself. I walked up Palace Court (so named because it's across the street from Kensington palace and gardens, where Princess Diana used to live), turned left on Bayswater, left on Queensway (walking down Queensway was fascinating this evening--I was alone, so no other girls were chatting around me, and I could pick out at least five or six conversations, all in different languages taking place around me just walking down the block!) I've walked many miles today, Mum. :) Which is good--they're feeding us very very well at the center.

Oh, I'm loving it here, Mom. Thank you thank you thank you for helping me get here! And I'm jotting plenty of little notes in my "london walks" book, for when you guys come back with me someday. I'll be a fabulous tour guide. ;)

Love you,

Mary-Celeste

9/6/09

I'm glad you feel better, Mom!

Yesterday Brooke and I went shopping on Portobello Road. It was SUCH a fun time! Did you know Portobello market is the largest antiques market in the world? There were so many amazing shops and stalls! The whole street was jam-packed with tourists, locals, and visitors from all around the world. That's one of my favorite things about London--the rainbow of colors and languages one sees and hears just walking down the road. It reminded me of Bourbon street or something--being on just one very very famous street jam-packed with people? The crowd disappears ten meters down a side street! :)

When we got back, I hung out with the other girls in the center, and had a blast--they're all such fun people! I have a lot in common with a lot of them. I'm glad I decided to approach all of them with a good attitude, because though they're a bit different from me, they're all such wonderful people! I hope we'll grow to all be even better friends by semester's end. :)

For dinner I split a carton of strawberries with Brooke, and they were the best strawberries I've ever had in my life! Also, the raspberries from Portobello Market were far better than any I've had in America. The berries are just plain better over here! It's incredible, even though you wouldn't think it'd be that way, because we're in the middle of a city. Really are the best berries ever Perhaps it's the maritime climate.

It was amazing talking to the girl from mainland China in our group (Her name is . . . See-Kong, sort of. That's the dumbed-down pronunciation we mostly use.) and it was very very interesting. When I finally got into Hamlet, I was amazed to discover I couldn't put it down! I've never been "sucked in" to Shakespeare like that before. It was wonderful. :)

I love you, Mum. I hope you're having a wonderful, sunny day!

Mary-Celeste

P. S. Here's a poem I just wrote. I believe it was an assignment that was canceled, but I decided to attempt it anyway--twenty lines of blank iambic pentameter. It's about the Peterson cemetery.

The path is steep; the road is long and straight.
Long, scrubby grass blows to and fro beside.
I reach the top--my chest is filled with space
From each crisp breath of mountain air I take.
Vibrant green, those hills call out to me,
Those patchy fields a thousand different hues,
As 'cross the peaceful nook I rest my eyes.
Craggy, snow-capped peaks in distance rumble
With satisfaction for their basin fair,
Whilst peaceful mares graze long in tranquil fields
Beside those quiet stones that lie so still,
Those monuments, grown dim with age and wear.
Blanket of turf, in mountain home they sleep,
While golden flames crest peaks that seem to fly,
And slowly, molten mauve just dances by,
And And leaves a hazy gray-blue glow about
That wraps my favorite place in monochrome.
It barely seems to kiss my arms and face,
And sends me off to bed with fond embrace
That seems to say, "come back to me . . . someday."

Anyway, I rather liked it. Love you, Mum. Truly, I do.

*end of transmission*

I'm very fortunate I have a mother I can speak to so easily. I know that, regardless of whether these letters meet the minimum qualifications for a London blog, I will treasure them for many years as not only a faithful record of my trip here, but of my enduring bond with my mother.

-Mary-Celeste