Part of our relocation involves picking up threads with new people and so I'll be starting these new adventures over the next few days.
So as I walked through this recent late summer London scene of the Fever Tree winnebago closed up, a Jack Bruce lyric drifted into my head. The one about the imaginary western.
When the wagons leave the city
For the forest and further on
Painted wagons of the morning
Dusty roads where they have gone
I'm thinking how our own wagon has rolled to the new place. Despite the current almost desert-like scene opposite (which I describe as a mini Grand Canyon), we'll soon have an entire new landscape.
Oh the sun was in their eyes
And the desert was dry
In the country town
Where the laughter sounds
Maybe not Slartibartfast, and go easy on the crinkly edges.
Here's Jack Bruce.
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