The cathedral dome
bauble sunk, cupped and smothered
by a fell beast’s hands
Flying over London, I was astonished to see just how small St Paul’s Cathedral is amongst the towers of the city. The Shard is an ugly dagger, sharp and brutal. That it can make Wren’s masterpiece look so small shocked me. St Paul’s still carries a strength, from the river, crossing from Bankside and Tate Modern, it still imposes. But from the air, it looks feeble, a toy.
The journey took us along the path of the Thames into the estuary, the mud flats splayed for hundreds of metres, the hairpin curves of the tributaries, snaking in and out till they reached the brackish water that is neither sea or river.
We then cut south and flew over the alien territory round Dungeness, so barren and lonely looking. A nature sanctuary. Then over the Channel to France.
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