A Day in the Base Noise of Living
The morning is a clear bell sounding,
and I am full with its music. I leave
my pretty countryside, fields dotted
with unsheared sheep, scented old hay,
and frosty hedgerows. I set a path
for London. A day in the city. Those
trapping influences. The City. Life.
I miss noise, the rush, the push. I miss
the crush of people who ignore you,
have no wish to know you. I miss
the scent of women rushed and passing,
perfume the only memory left. I miss
the call of newspaper boys, brash
headlines shouting at crowds. I miss
humming pavements as people hurry.
I miss the base noise of living.
Found and remixed text from Bleak House and
my 1991 Winter Journal of Bletchingley, Surrey.