Longing in London

Writing prompt this morning from a friend: Write down your favourite colour, month of year, and city.  Here's my response. 

She walked along the jubilee trail beside the river.  The Thames had an iron grey look today, reflecting the clouds above.  It would rain later; she thought.  In London it always rained, when it didn’t there was a wet feeling on the air.  ‘It’s an island in the middle of the sea,’ she reminded herself.

She stopped looking south along the river; what an impressive sight.  Tate Modern loomed straight ahead.  She knew the path on that side of the river twisted, and turned through Southwark; past Shakespeare’s original Globe theatre, the London City Museum.   Straight ahead was probably the most impressive sights; the Victorian marvel that was Tower Bridge.

She knew without looking the north side was equally impressive; the Gherkin stood looking over the river.  St. Paul’s cathedral balanced out Tate Modern.  The tower stood; a stubborn fortress guarding the river, and the city as it had for centuries.  How could she give this up?

She was bored of the landscape; so much grey, white, and black.  She longed for colour; a splash of red in the fall leaves.  The trees would be changing colour at home; rich reds, and gold’s.  She closed her eyes leaning against the railing; she could almost feel the warmth sunlight on her face.  She took a deep breath opening them again.  She was surrounded by grey, and, white.  The red bricks even carrying a dull sheen. 

She couldn’t fault the city for that; she loved it here.  She loved its nooks and crannies; Carnaby Street tucked away almost as a private treasure.  Loved wandering through the museums; she could disappear into the British museum for hours at a time.  The Churchill War Rooms were her favourite, it was as if stepping through time into the 1940’s.  You expected the old bulldog himself to come wandering out of his bunk, asking you to take notes.

Home though held its allure.  She missed the changing seasons; the changing leaves in fall, the blossoms in spring.   She missed family, friends.  The homesickness was on her now, and she stopped to rest on a bench staring out at the river.

What was to stop her from going home? She knew almost before she thought about it.  Home wasn’t the same since he’d married her.  She’d been accused of stealing jewellery, and her dad took his new wife’s side over his original daughter’s.

What about her mother? Her mother had remarried, and made it clear there was no room for her there.  She’d had a second family.  So here she was in London; an amazing city, yet longing to be somewhere  else.