Out of the city

It's the sound of countless birds singing, the muffled middle distance of the traffic's roar, the elevation and light; how apart from the usual world we are and yet this world's utter mundanity, its totally quotidian nature and humility; which moves me. The mixture of idealism (as Greenway) with pragmatism (as sewer), of history in flux all around, most alive in the east of London, for better or worse. The sense of going somewhere, yet nowhere; of being nowhere, that is strangely both universal and completely specific. I feel very lonely yet somehow still connected.