Observations on an Early Morning Walk: 1 (re-edit)

An early constitutional as the sky merges from night into dusky lilac.

Another “CD”, Dickens, may well have trod these same steps, over a century ago,

Another flaneur languishing within this giant, multi-faceted muse.

These are the hours she merely dozes, with pockets of life bustling behind her stirring streets.

A woman shares my journey, at times; matching my pace.

A cane propels her heavy weight, which, I feel, ages her prematurely.

Tears charge down her cheeks –not in expression of sorrow or joy,

But the effect of the icy February winds that chase down these old veiny streets.

Bars and restaurants erasing last night’s jovialities ease the City’s hangover

(Deftly averted, a pile of half-heartedly cleared vomit).

Our muse still bleary-eyed, nearby cafes set up for al fresco diners -

Optimistically, as it feels too early in the day and the year.

A chesty cough from a vagrant across the narrow street;

White-bearded, red-jacketed – but ‘Pere Noel’ this is not.

He calls to us two identical women: 

“Did you like it luv?!”

Who?  Us?  ’Like’ what?

His hearty laugh fades behind me and I mutter: 

“Nutty bastard....”

Again, I think of Dickens.

Around a corner, a huge glass-topped building arouses curiosity.

Lively whistled morning-songs trill throughout.

Men in white coats, white hats, white shoes, white trousers

Shepherding cold dead flesh all over.

This place of so much life and so much death is no sanctuary for the sensitive vegetarian -

Not that this thought will affect its 800-year history.

Here, deals are made, notes are exchanged and hands are shaken.

Back outside.

Herds of smart part-time City-dwellers march towards offices or refuel inside cafes with steamed windows.

Soon, their buying and selling will pump life into the heart and breathe force into the lungs of London.