A Patch of Blue

On the train to London (to see the Cindy Sherman exhibition).  We are delayed at Royston: no way forward; no way back; no way of escape.  I look out of the window and the words from The Ballad of Reading Gaol remind me I’m not trapped: I never saw a man who looked / With such a wistful eye / Upon that little tent of blue / Which prisoners call the sky, / And at every drifting cloud that went / With sails of silver by.

Photo: Royston Station, September 2019

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