On the western tip of the Isle of Wight are some crags called the Needles. They look rather blunt for needles, but here they are, nonetheless, shrouded in a mysterious fog:
The way down to the Needles:
The deserted Needles
shore:
We trekked over half the
isle today and yesterday via bus and foot.
Buses are good for
overhearing things.
While I was waiting
for one of them, the lady next to me suddenly remarked – staring contemplatively
at nothing – “Pigs are closest to humans, I think.” This surprised me because she looked
perfectly normal. I twitched an eyebrow
in agreement and companionably stared at nothing.
On another bus some
scruffy middle-school boys lounged at the front. Impressively, they were discussing grammar:
“What’s the past tense
of brake? Is it braked
or broke?”
“I think if it’s
coming from you, it’s braked.”
“I braked my bike –
no, that doesn’t sound right...”
Soon the conversation
rabbit-trailed to the cramped bus seats.
“Nothing’s made the right size for a man.”
More photos:
On the Yarmouth pier:
“The hills are alive” –
wayside field on the footpath to Fishbourne
All Saints Church in
Ryde
(we stopped and wrote
English-major stuff in our journals)
No comments:
Post a Comment