To celebrate, let's take a walk through Hyde Park at dusk, circa 2008.
Nip past the Royal Albert Hall with its ornate façade half in shadow, and pass through the gates to Hyde Park. The golden tips catch fire as the sun sets.
Central Park is a strange escape; Hyde Park is a wild oasis, full blooded countryside transported to the center of London. Wide gravel paths intersect tall, gray grasses and forgotten forests. You can practically see an Austen heroine picking her way through.
It's cold and foggy in here, and the only sounds are people whistling for the dogs and dogs pretending not to hear.
From the day:
I noticed a pattern after a while: everything was sort of fairy-tale-y and spooky. There was a teensy bit of mist, some of the trees are gnarled and black, with no leaves or moss, and I found the Peter Pan statue, which is covered with fairies and woodland creatures.
If you wander far enough in, you discover little fountains or statues or Victorian benches. Everything is still and silent. Being alone in here is peaceful, not scary in the least.
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