Joggers, strollers, skaters, buskers…
Ambling, ungainly, like a plastic tube man waving in the wind, arms flailing here, there, around, everywhere.
Towering, dancing - Caribbean eye over London.
Anthony came off the bridge onto Festival Pier. Skaters were already hard at work. On his first visit to London, he had decided to walk from Charing Cross Station until…anywhere really. He had crossed a bridge and stumbled upon the undercroft, its vulgarity startling in the city’s order. He should have been accustomed to this but instead, he walked quickly, mildly disoriented.
In a foreign land, some familiarities are sinister.
He looked over to his right. On the river, a boat was taking tourists on a tour down the Thames.
Wordsworth’s Thames for them. Lucky them.
Heaven in drops of water.
The skateboard park was Dickens’s - always making a way in the world.
A jumble of colours forced its way out as his eyes adjusted themselves to the darkness in the undercroft.
The sunlight outside added an air of drudgery to the graffiti decorated walls.
Peace. Skateboard4Life. Love - words that suggested a community always making a way in the world, thriving under low ceilings and obstacle courses.
Southbank Centre was crowded as usual. He could see the capsules of the eye from a distance as he walked. Billowing red across the merry English sky, the moko jumbie was dancing on the Queen’s Walk, flexible with his height, watching over all who passed by.
A skateboard whisked past him and passed through the jumbie’s stilted legs.
“Whoa!” somebody shouted.
Passers-by laughed, entertained.
A child pointed - two feet of awe looking heavenward at ten feet of jumbie.
A jogger moved deftly past, dodging the throng of people.
Englishmen in Lonsdale jackets and
Big Ben chimed away, centuries of chimes trapped in those walls.
London’s timekeeper looked directly past Waterloo Bridge over to the Golden Jubilee Bridge. The face-off was entertaining.
They were tightly secured – for now.