This is exactly how I lived my childhood in central Bradford. Finding surprises in the battered pockets of 'wasteland', teeming buddleia full of butterflies. Reading stories set in beautiful-sounding wild woods full of creatures, and bucolic farmlands far away. Creeping under raggy blackberry hoops to watch the evening sky just before the (ironically now much missed) orange streetlights made everything a weird flat brown. On the rowdy bus watching the raging sunset reflected back from the millions of city windows. Thinking about how all that sandstone was dug and blasted from the hills around the edge. I always love your work here. Thank you for opening a portal for me, for taking me straight back!
Thank you Anji, I grew up in Stoke and your story is familiar to me. I remember those orange streetlights - there was one right opposite my bedroom window where a tawny owl often perched.
This is exactly how I lived my childhood in central Bradford. Finding surprises in the battered pockets of 'wasteland', teeming buddleia full of butterflies. Reading stories set in beautiful-sounding wild woods full of creatures, and bucolic farmlands far away. Creeping under raggy blackberry hoops to watch the evening sky just before the (ironically now much missed) orange streetlights made everything a weird flat brown. On the rowdy bus watching the raging sunset reflected back from the millions of city windows. Thinking about how all that sandstone was dug and blasted from the hills around the edge. I always love your work here. Thank you for opening a portal for me, for taking me straight back!
Thank you Anji, I grew up in Stoke and your story is familiar to me. I remember those orange streetlights - there was one right opposite my bedroom window where a tawny owl often perched.
Brilliantly observed, thank you.
I laughed that you described the blackbird as hysterical. Thanks for that.
Love this, as always.
Thank you Kara!