We occupy time the way you occupy space.
Stretching across the Sundays, or running through centuries.
This passing we explore the tunnels of the Fleet.
Fields fold and crowd along the High Street to meet at the village of Mother Red Cap. Jinney spins yarns and C. bundles the skeins into her work basket.
Camden Town shrugs and shuffles. Earth moves. A canal winds and flexes between streets and factories. The heavy moan and crash of excavation spreads and softens into the rhythmic wheeze and burr of steam.
watches from the bank; water splashes it's light under the arches and
joins the shadows. Twin streams from Hampstead and Highgate duck
for cover at Kentish Town. Seasons pulse through the river, the Holbourne springs returned to earth and darkness.
Under the markets we hear the call of traders and the clack of hooves against the cobbles. Rich and sour smells; vegetables, animals, people ebb and flow above.
In our cross weave of tunnels the horses and I move steadily between grilled squares of light and noise from the streets above. The pattern of horse and leather steps steadily through the weekdays. Nights of straw and steamy whiskers. The trains shunt and leave. They all shunt and leave.
Car horns breathe smoky impatience as they spread across the city.
If I keep to the evenings I can see the two old dames play their duet.
Mother Red Cap weaves her gritty knitting, striping the walls with sound. The thin clink and chatter of the tea garden burls and jungles into thrash at the Underground.
A jaggy warp of Elixir "When you're in danger, You feel your life blood slip away, Then you wonder, Do the Gods hear you when you pray? But if you stand strong. Don't let your spirit ever die. Then he'll send down A winged avenger from on high."
A weft of Mantis, "Fly Again... Now you see this living Masterpiece A portrait of your soul A treasure that haunts through the channels of time Memories life never stole, Will you find you tomorrow Now you hide yesterday Find the path of deliverance Find another day. In time.....Looking for your Angel In time.....In time your spirit will fly again In time....."
Black Cap changes her cloak for feathers, vivid colour and celebration. Mrs Shufflewick fans the street with laughter. Dancers mix Cinderella and showgirl, challenge and courage.
Perhaps I will reach the Unicorn in space to see the Healthy Junkies thrash out La vie en rose.
Amy visits with posters marking time in stripes of starburst, gothy skulls, lions, roses. You can hear her favourite ribbons of "Treat Me Right!" resounding through our timescape like a beacon.
She loves the horses and runs through the shunting yards, sorting good handlers from bad with her haunting blues, smoke and mirrors. Emily accompanies, repeating riffs and laughing. Jack Shaftoe's button gleaming from her collar.
Mother Red Cap makes Amy apotropaic scarves of Summer Rain, Green and
Ruby days, soft with kindness and strong with shifting bands of memory.
She sits with Claudia and the Baron, planning better worlds.
Wilf Mbanga purrs, curled in a basket of all-ages zines. He likes the diversion of this eclectic community, the occasional fish, and after hours treats from Andy's Garden.
Time takes a corner under the glassy stare of Beryl's stuffed buffalo.