It was a summer-in-winter day today, one of those days where I feel overjoyed cycling even though I have (for the umpteenth time) forgotten my gloves.
I arrived in Darwin college early for my supervision, and instead of bumbling around in the corridor as usual, I spied a door that led outside, and, like Lucy stepping into the wardrobe, I pushed it open and entered a most beautiful world.
There was a bridge cutting through a moss-covered low stone wall, over a still stream. The sun was (I have no better words) kissing me. I tried to write a Villanelle as I sat on the wall, but the sun and the stream and the gentle breeze tugged me away from my work and I just sat, looking round at everything and thinking how wonderful it was to be alive.
After my supervision, I cycled to the market, and bought potatoes from the vegetable stall owner who always calls me 'love'. Then I went into Sainsburys to get a few extra things, before cycling to Downing College to discuss the Food Justice event Just Love is holding tomorrow.
As I cycled for some reason I couldn't help but notice everyone's ears. It started because I noticed a girl who's ears were tucked beneath a scarf under her helmet, to keep them nice and warm as she cycled. Then as I passed other people I noticed how their hair curled over their ears, or how the backs of their ears were red with cold. One man had a phone pressed to his ear - how marvellous that he was hearing a voice at the end of the line, a conversation I passed just a metre from but was miles away from hearing. Another man's ears were grey. I became intensely aware of how much sound enters me, the roar of an aeroplane overhead, the hum of cars, the sound of shoes and smoke and voices. I tune so much of it out, and when I do pay attention to it all it is a symphony that is strangely disorienting even though it should be so familiar.
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