Bamburgh, Northumbria.
(Home of Lancelot's castle, and the crab stottie.)
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
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
-
.jpg)
I am drinking lavender white tea, listening to what sounds like a young parrot learning to form words out in the orange t... -
When the snow-girt earth Cracks to let through a spurt Of sudden green, and from the muddy dirt A sn... -
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... -
Darkness falls—and then there are candles in red glass cups, fires of piñon wood, carols. Cakes fall—and I remember in the lov... -
forget your perfect offering there is a crack in everything that's how the light gets in —Leo... -
The past makes me much happier than the future, because it’s not nearly as scary. What happened there, horrific as it m... -
Back from a day’s silent retreat at the Green Gulch Zen temple and farm, I’m full of quiet wisdom. I’ve come back not w... -
So tomorrow we are off to London (quiet family visiting, with a Mozart opera at Glyndebourne on Sunday), and then to Lucca. As I keep... -
Typically I wouldn't like the plaid chair—but somehow it's just right in that setting. As would I be! I can see a week ther... -
On my way back from campus, a fine flurry of yellow leaves. Dissettling December . . . image: Christie B. Cochrell, Leaves in Fountain
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.