Saturday, 17 August 2019

Searching for silent darkness.



Last night after we had cleared away the dinner plates, James and I sat quietly. Words about the day’s events; all bad in our troubled world were set aside.

I drew the curtains to block out the distant lights and mask as much of the New York city noise as I could; the sound of sirens in the streets and the disruptions to our peaceful lives as such blocking would allow.

One candle was set and soft music loaded to soothe us.

He held my hand without speaking and with eyes closed we drifted back to a time long ago. 

How I wished for those days. 

That night in London in 1819 at the Royal Hotel Pall Mall St James’s, I had slept so soundly and woken to a time in our history where violence and hatred seemed to not yet have been invented. A time before gun violence, before days when we feared to walk in our streets. Gather with others safely without concern for mass shootings. A time before hate was fed to us in every word from our politicians.

On that day I had woken from a wondrous sleep nestled in a four-poster bed to the near silence of a street 200 years ago, where the only muffled sounds were the soothing wheels of the horse drawn carriages on the cobbled street.




James went off to work this morning and I pulled the covers back over my head to once more sleep in the search for that silent darkness.



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