♥ ♥ I still remember the exact way I felt: climbing up the stairs of Champ de Mars station with bated breath, catching my first glimpse of the soaring Eiffel Tower, walking my first few steps along the River Seine, and thinking to myself — […]
It doesn’t take much effort to feel small, dwarfed by the misty mountains and the vast glen surrounding the Fairy Pools in the Isle of Skye. Read more… . Weekly Photo Challenge: Scale . .
George Smiley no longer lived in No. 9. I knew it as soon as I saw the new door. Red. A come-hither hue so incongruent to, well, everything George is known to us to be. His abhorrence for attention. His diffident nature. Perhaps, if the goal was to hide in plain sight, a shouty red door would be the perfect blind for a tubby, clumsy, bespectacled man who would ordinarily merit no more than a passing glance. But…a red door would just be too much, I think.
The first time the boatman urged me to go below the surface, I resolutely plunged downwards and went as deep as I could go. Unfortunately — apparently — this was as deep as I could go: