Particular to London
Jul. 19th, 2011 09:26 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rabidsamfanThere are days when he misses the desert. Days when the yellow fog hides the sun, and the acrid damp, redolent with sulfur and horse dung, permeates his clothes and hair and lungs.
There are nights when he misses the stars. The streetlamps, dim blurry globules of light in man-made canyons, are no substitute for sharp pinpricks of brilliance delineating the ancient constellations in a sky that goes on forever above mountains no hand of man has shaped.
But when he closes his eyes and listens to the music of a violin he is glad once more to be home.
The wwoes prompt was the song, "A foggy day in London Town"... hence, this. And the prompts are going to get harder?! Oh, boy!
There are nights when he misses the stars. The streetlamps, dim blurry globules of light in man-made canyons, are no substitute for sharp pinpricks of brilliance delineating the ancient constellations in a sky that goes on forever above mountains no hand of man has shaped.
But when he closes his eyes and listens to the music of a violin he is glad once more to be home.
The wwoes prompt was the song, "A foggy day in London Town"... hence, this. And the prompts are going to get harder?! Oh, boy!
