On my first trip to the UK in 2011, I hired a car and spent two weeks wending my way, nervously, around narrow roads and laneways designed originally for horses and carts. I decided this time not to put myself through that stress, and so took advantage of a British Rail offer: 8 days of travel within a month for under $500, which I thought, after checking prices for individual trips, sounded good, though the offer is only for we people living outside the country, which seems awfully unfair on the locals.
Goodbye beautiful Cambridge
And so I was quite looking forward to being transported from Cambridge to Bath with the least amount of effort, though I had, for some reason, expected the train to go direct. It hadn’t entered my head the least amount of effort would entail going all the way back to London, getting off, catching a…
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Horses started to make me cry young. Watching them run was one of the most overwhelming feeling and tears couldn’t be avoided. I saw their god yesterday on the shore, he was proud and strong facing the ocean and I didn’t cry.
The ravens were few but they came to the Ape while I wandered alone.
Does tears make us weak and can we still ride when we love or are we doomed to watch from far the glory of the distant knight.
I don’t worship the horse god with his mineral gaze, because I build it with the salt of my tears. There is nothing to be proud about.