a little removed

I’ve been whiling away the time, getting so little study done.

This evening, I find myself not in the yellow walled, black trimmed travesty of a dormitory room. I am perched in a posture worthy of reprimand by my orthopedician, in a fabric tub chair, by an open double window. I have a view of black skies and a plain stone building-flats I believe.

As I read Tomkins, the occassional breeze licks at my feet, chilling but not uncomfortable. Occassionally my mind wanders. As it does now, Damien rice is playing, the night seems a perfect still apart from the pages I turn and tune he carries.

The restful nature of the city, this city of ancient beauty and culture, Prague seems to be embodied in the air. I breathe it, I feel calmer, I feel my mind racing less. I ponder what I read, I am not distracted by the ambulance, the police siren, the train’s whistle, the drunkards’ clamourings, the screech of the disoriented flight of pigeons, the rustling of restless trees rooted for eternity, the noise and rumble of the London air. Even when my mind wanders, it meanders with no aggression, it is a placid stream, flowing not a faucet pouring furiously trying to fill a tub.

It is this serenity, that I missed. Its amazing just how much easier it is to think and read in this environment than it was in the beauty of St James’s park, pretty but infested with tourist.

I am thinking of the old corner cafe just before Charles bridge. This antiquainted old dame, cake and tea, china and oak panels. The sleepy, the romantic the easy way to live. Tomorrow, I shall take my books there.

Advertisement