Coming home
Coming home to the first spring of London
that I've witnessed in a while.
I watch the ribbons of the carlights
on the bridges start to file.
See the sparkling shimmer of lights
in the water of the Thames
and I am home.
Home again.
I wrap myself in the arms of the red buses going through
and the crowded underground with its restored graffiti tubes
read the posters for the exhibitions,
I may not see at all.
Listen to buskers in the subways
and stroll along the mall.
meet up with friends
in Leicester square
get the gossip hear the news.
Good to see your faces
once again I find the muse.
"How are the travel stories?"
"Is the book nearly up to date?"
"Can I come on the next leg
or is it already too late?"
Want to come with me to Ireland
and Iceland in the spring?
Travel up to Scotland and do the Celtic thing?
So many places left here
so many things to do
So many things to write about
But no longer all for you
The train is here and waiting
the tannoy calls its claim
Back to the house
back to the Start
of another journeys game.
11/4/2005
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