Passion

A sharp wind hit Evie as she stepped on to the ice rink at Somerset House. She belted her red jacket to keep the cold out. The lights above flashed on to the white ice turning the ice from blue to pink.

Rest in reason; move in passion
~ Kahlil Gibran

“Evie,” she heard her name being called and looked around. Callum was on the ice with Mary Beth.  Her heart skipped a beat. Had he called out to her? He wasn’t looking at her now.

On the ice her knee began to ache. Skating around with the rest of the crowd she tried to warm up. But the cold had seeped into her bones and her joints were stiff.

“Evie!” she heard her name again. Again she looked up but no one was there. “Was it Mary Beth trying to put her off?

Her mother had spent the morning sharpening her blades. Evie knew she had to focus if she wanted any chance of winning next week’s heat.  “A mowhawk, a dip, a three turn and a stroke,” she whispered reminding herself of her mother’s old routine. Evie concentrated on her legwork blocking out the rest of the world.

She didn’t see Callum and Mary Beth leave; she didn’t see the other skaters make their way back towards their homes. Evie only realised she was alone when half way through a turn the lights went off and her left leg gave way.  She missed her footing and the weight of her body came down on the ice. The sharpened blade pierced her hand; a single drop of blood fell on to the white ice.

“It matches your jacket.” She heard a voice say. But before she could look up a hand reached out towards her.  It was Callum, he was alone. “Looks like we can fix that,” he said smiling at Evie as he helped her to her feet.  “Drink this,” he said taking a silver flask out of his jacket. “I was watching you skate before you fell. You have such grace, such passion.”

Evie raised the flask to her lips. The liquor was fiery and she felt awarmth spread through her. “Where’s Mary Beth?” She asked.

“We’re not together anymore.”

“Oh?” Evie looked at her boots.

 “Let’s see your hand.”

Evie showed Callum her palm. He took out a tissue from his jacket and pressed it down on the scratch. Touching Evie’s chin, Callum lifted her face towards his. Their eyes locked and Evie smiled.

About the photo: I was walking the streets of London with a mission and a (patient) friend and we walked past Somerset House and had to step in. It was beautiful, brimming with skaters, gracefully sliding across the ice.

The Marwari Horse

At one o’clock Sushmita picked up her sandwich box and headed out of her office for lunch with the rest of London. It was overcast but the temperature was pleasant - like a mid-winter’s day in Mumbai.

She had been in London for almost a year now and had never been to Marble Arch. The guide book which now sat under a pile of tee-shirts in her one bedroom apartment, had said it was a ‘must see.’ But standing under the smoke stained archway the original entrance to Buckingham Palace did not look as spectacular as she had imagined.  A flicker of green caught her eye as she gazed through the archway. Sushmita walked towards it.  

She instantly recognised the twisted ears of the Marwari horse. ‘To keep the desert sand out’ she whispered under her breath. Sushmita smiled as she walked around the sculpture. Reaching out to feel the cool bronze under her fingers she then sat on the grass beside it.

Taking out the sandwiches from her bag, she looked up at the six tonne Marwari horse. It reminded her of home; of her days in school and her study of the Moghuls, Maharajas and warriors of feudal India. A little piece of Indian heritage in London she thought as she closed her eyes and took her first bite. In that moment she was home. 

But the thing about remembering is that you don't forget.
~ Tim O'Brien

About the photo: You know when you have spent the night awake, chatting and laughing, and the next morning when you are half awake, half asleep, and the sun is streaming down on a crisp winter's morning...everything seems to inspire you. This was one such occasion at Marble Arch in January.