Friday, November 11, 2016

a ghostly past; an apocalyptic moon

It feels very good, but very strange, to be back in a country that doesn't face the prospect of President Trump.  It usually takes me about ten minutes of being home, or "home," in the UK before I start chafing, and remembering why I live in the US.  Today, I felt warmly affectionate towards a very great deal - and yes - I know - Brexit Brexit Brexit.   Partly, I think, this had to do with running into an old friend, whom I've known for over fifty years - it was good to share political angst transatlantically.  At least, despite their (or my father's, certainly) Brexit views, both my parents are Trump-loathers, and my mother quite passionate about anti-HRC sexism.  I needed the quick injection of the long-term familiar, with its illusions of stability - but, as the above image suggests (the upstairs windows of a bridal store in Wimbledon Village), it's all dim and ghostly, too.

And then, walking back after my dose of fresh air, this apocalyptic moon ...

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