Springtime in London is absolutely numinous. Birds chitter gaily in the chilly breezes and clouds play peekaboo with the sun, much to the chagrin of my British family who lament every moment the sun is screened. I feel like the luckiest girl in England, given that I rejoice in every moment that isn’t pouring with frigid buckets of rain, which actually makes up the majority of the daytime. But alas I am alone in this optimistic view of clouds and drizzle, with a beautiful day being cruelly chastised as awful if a hint of grey lingers. And so I walk down the street with my little woven shopping bag in faint drizzle so fine it feels like cool kisses from heaven, or lay on my back under a blanket on the verdent garden grass watching the fluffy clouds dance theatrical Lion King shapes just for me, and thank the stars that I am here – in London in the Springtime.
What a marvellous place to be.
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