London

London is a place that draws me in, it draws me into its wild and multifaceted mechanisms; I want to run away from the congested and bitter crowds that knock and sear into my daily consciousness; I try and block out the rude crushing crowds, the stop start trains, the screeching daily relentless drive that propels each day barging with indifference faceless blankly dead expressions. The chug chug chug of the passing day transforms warm blooded vitality into faded bony remnants. But beyond the darkness of the daily drudging feet and communal daily confluence lies the London that holds me with its great transforming gaze. There within its machinery lies plots of escapism to delight the senses with its quirky lumen essence. Sitting on some grass at the twilight age of the day the sky is a mixture of yellows reds and gray-blues, trees lost of leaves branch upward filling the horizon caressing the darkening textured night sky. London is at its best from twilight to dawn.