magic (n).

photo-5It is welded tight to my chest, the memory of standing at the top of this hill; I was eighteen, I was fresh and wild, I hadn't seen anything at all, and then I was thrown into a world of castles and cathedrals and trees that are older than anything about me, people with different languages and histories, different ways of transit, different foods, different preferences in shoes. This day was magical, a stranger (who attended a birthday party for me even though he didn't know me and brought me flowers and earl grey tea and cookies) had signed up to take us through the English countryside, he took us for tea, he brought us to Stonehenge, he brought us on "the curviest stretch of road in all of Britain", we listened to the Beatles, stubbed our toes on the cobblestones; it was all so simple and triumphant. And we got to Gold's Hill around 4pm, and I looked onto these sleepy houses and I remember thinking, "there isn't much to this day, there isn't much that we accomplished, except that everything was sweet and kind and easy and that is just simply the best day one could have."  

Posted on December 14, 2012 and filed under the word project-.