Bamburgh, Northumbria.
(Home of Lancelot's castle, and the crab stottie.)
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About Me
- Christie
- Creative writer - Traveler - Archaeologist manque - Ardent lover of the play of light, the journeyings of time, things ephemeral and ancient
Popular Posts
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On my way back from campus, a fine flurry of yellow leaves. Dissettling December . . . image: Christie B. Cochrell, Leaves in Fountain -
Away for the weekend, and gratefully back home here to the coast, where I'm nesting again. Making a chicken and farro salad with... -
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I am drinking lavender white tea, listening to what sounds like a young parrot learning to form words out in the orange t... -
“When spring came, even the false spring, there were no problems except where to be happiest. The only thing that could s... -
I drink the excellent Peruvian coffee made from hand-roasted beans and carried back for me, see beside the bed a litt... -
Darkness falls—and then there are candles in red glass cups, fires of piñon wood, carols. Cakes fall—and I remember in the lov... -
When the snow-girt earth Cracks to let through a spurt Of sudden green, and from the muddy dirt A sn... -
The past makes me much happier than the future, because it’s not nearly as scary. What happened there, horrific as it m... -
I thought I might like to be a sojourner —a word I’ve come across this morning that is not in my regular vocabulary. I do journ...
Christie,
ReplyDeleteAs soon as I saw the picture, I knew it was somewhere in Northern England! Wasn't sure about Scotland. Can't believe you've been there too!
Ah, how much I miss Europe and England!!!
Thanks for posting this photograph!
Jay:
ReplyDeleteWe’re like pilgrims, I think, making our way across vast distances of time and space in memory and photograph and word to those essential places that we love so well and have made part of our being (and well-being). Happy journeying! Like the pilgrims to Lindisfarne, we can only get there when the tide allows . . . But I would so love to be there now.