Walking home thru London one night I stumbled across this park that used to be a church. My phone had died so I couldn’t take any pictures and it was really dark anyway.
I returned at somepoint and read the info about it. It had been bombed in the 1st or 2nd world wars. I’m of course writing this post months after reading the info.
One of my favorite things about the uk and the old world in general is the history.
It resonates with me so strongly…
Part of it I think is that the ancestors I carry with me feel more comfortable in places they remember or that look like places they had been. I’ve never felt more at home anywhere else. My celtic ancestors love it when I take them home.
The irony for me was that I wandered past this place which was a stones throw from St Paul’s Cathedral a place i had been trying to avoid because the magnitude of it was incredibly overwhelming for me.
But it was right there the whole time and I just didn’t know it.
My visit to St Paul’s was a whole nother epic kind of moment. Worthy of its own post.