Upon Westminster Bridge

Well, Waterloo Bridge actually, but the point still holds. Driving across it yesterday evening, the wonder that is London was manifest. It was a damp evening, but shiny from the reflections in all the water. A gentle mist rose from the surface of the Thames. The buildings on either bank of the river seemed to shimmer slightly.

I was mesmerised by the play of light and shadow, by the way the sky seemed to move above my head. Although at the opposite end of the day from that which inspired Wordsworth’s poem, I could understand his vision of the city ‘touching in its majesty’.

The river itself seemed unusually busy, with craft plying up and down adding to the light and the sense of movement. As we paused to let a cyclist past, the city seemed to hold its breath and, despite all the noise, it was quiet. A strange paradox; but then, I find that London often is.

Then, this morning, going across Lambeth Bridge in the opposite direction; still wet and glistening, but very different. The overwhelming sense is of bicycles streaming past. I hadn’t seen so many since Cambridge days. When did London become a city of cyclists? And now the river is even busier. Clearly, the days when the river was only used occasionally are long gone; this is now a major thoroughfare. I realised, again, how much I miss London. Perhaps I should return?