January

Edinburgh

New Year bursts forth from a confetti cannon. We dance to an indie band and Christina tells me that everything is beautiful. Upstairs, they've left the microphone on, so we take the stage and sing terrible songs to an audience of each other. We meet so many people that night: Mairi is a butterfly, and she makes us move easily through crowds she met through simply saying hello. On the first day of the new year, the sun sets at the castle over the golden streets below. The trees along Grassmarket are lit Silvester-silver. By evening we are exhausted. The prawn crackers go uneaten and we drift gently from conversation into sleep.

January is busy. In Berlin, I sing karaoke with Kati and we wander along the Wall. In Dublin Eilis and I spot seals, drink hot chocolate, and walk on the beach in the dark, catching up after a year apart. In England I have work placements in two museums. And then it's back to St Andrews, a week late for my final semester.

Eilis and me at the river by her house

Henley 

The walk to the museum takes me along the Thames, high from recent rain. The air is cold and blue sky and water fade together with a golden morning mist low over the gentle waves. At the Marsh Lock the water rages into sudden rushing torrents, and the thin wooden bridge seems a paltry defence against the tides. 

I'm working in the museum's education department, shadowing various school visits and nursery groups. For the first time, I am 'Miss'. The kids are easy company. A nine year old boy tells me about his pet hedgehog. A thirteen year old girl says I laugh the way her uncle does. A three year old boy  tells me he knows magic to turn me into a skeleton. I would love to stay, showing young groups around the museum and rolling clay into balls for crafts, but sadly I have a train to catch. 

The prettiest little house on an island in the middle of the Thames

St Andrews

I walk along the beach, foam scudding across the sand faster than the rolling clouds, the North Sea white and belching up breakers as far as the mist-drenched horizon. At the end of the pier the town slips into fog. There are so many of us here, in this beautiful, hectic little place, yet for such a short time. In September, I wrote in my scrapbook ONE MORE YEAR, reminding myself how fast time passes. 

Now it has, but I've spent it well.

Photo by Fed.