Sunday, 14 August 2011

The smell of water

I think that I am one of those English people who dream of the desert. I lust after the thought of great expanses of dry, seemingly empty but incredibly complex landscapes. I do not lust after "that green and pleasant land", so aptly described by William Blake . It has always felt stifling to me, the determinedly neat hedgerows, the manicured landscapes, the cultivated arenas we inhabit in this, oh so small, island.
I think about the expanses of open desert with the rocky floors that are dusty and appear lifeless, but in reality are crossed by a myriad of creatures and cultures, using pathways both real and imagined. I see the history laid out at my feet, stretching out all around me to the horizon and beyond. I imagine my understanding of these landscapes to be greater.

Above all of this though I love the smell of water. A bath that contains enough water, that through its depth becomes slightly turquoise, is a thing of sheer joy. The calmness that this encapsulates is indescribable.




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