London, the night, the river...
All passing in their own time.
The great city - by day a vast tumult of activity,
By night the dark city; shadows and light; romance and mystery.
The river ebbs and flows beneath bridges, passing the old and the new; history and progress reflected.
The old water meanders sinuously back and forth, in time with the tide, in tune with the moon; gravity holds us all in thrall.
Time and the river pass by in perfect harmony; the river is never still, time never waits, the city only rests while the sun shines elsewhere.
The city was born in the arms of the river, suckled by the bounty it brought from afar; nurtured by merchants, enriched by their ships; the city and the river, like lovers entwined, move to their own rhythm, within their own time.
Passing time.
I walk by the river that shimmers with electric incandescence, the soul of the city for all time; glimmering beneath the elegant arches that span this slow, pulsing artery and anchor the two banks, holding the city together.
Behold the great dome of the Cathedral rising majestically into the misty night sky, joining this earth to the numinous beyond.
Passing time in a different sphere, between this realm and the next.
The river runs through me, the city is my heart; always they call me back home. In time I shall be returned to the ebb and flow motion of the river.
The night and the river; the heart of the city and me.