There is already day light at 4 am. Last morning, a heavy downpour of water woke me up. Rain tapping on the window or muttering in the dark outside is one thing I love to be awoken by. A mighty, sleepy kiss is a second one.
The Thames flows majestic and cold tonight. I walked from King's Cross to Saint Paul; then crossed Millenium Bridge -loved the view at night to the North, facing the Cathedral right ahead, the Mary's Axe Building to the East, and Tower Bridge further-, and continued the South Bank up to Jubilee Bridge and Westmister Bridge -loved the former bridge and the view of the latter from underneath the first-. Gusts of air brought silky and faded waves of party music from more than two or three boats. The river path was dark and quite, apart from herds of teenagers, jumping from somewhere, sometimes.
If you are in love, that's the place where you shall be on nights like this. Across the river, on the North bank, the city shakes noisily, vibrates with the rituals of social uniformity. I guess, a couple of years ago you could see the smoke of the party town gravitating amidst. But this other side of the river is forgotten; the Thames is black and wild, and if you pause, you shall hear all its mysteries loosen underneath its watery surface. What a thick and threatening surface!
Some people are there, some couples, some groups, there are some lights in the buildings and late boites aside. But, right outside, the river marches solemnly like a obscure king, silent and austere. And if you feel cold and lonesome, the river will just suit you.
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