Cranes

A lot of what I write on this blog has an underlying subconscious reference to the loneliness of this great city. A friend commented that these words and phrases, clauses and subtle gestures were a verbal commentary on Edward Hopper's Nighthawks, above. The thing is though, I love being a fly in the ointment of the city, it's the annonymity that has the intrinsic appeal. I have heaps of friends - I love you guys more than you know - yet the privacy of the crowd is a constant comfort. I can walk through Green Park alone on a Sunday afternoon and lie on cool grass whilst reading the paper without anyone bothering me. I'm part of the chattering crowd, we're the red, blue, pink, yellow paper cranes hanging from century-old branches. Eventually the rain will soften the paper, colour will drip down onto the grass, sunlight will devour the pigment and we'll fall, gracefully to our end. Trodden into the ground from whence we came.