A London Night

Last night I was walking home from Barons Court station. Being a little late in the evening, it was dark, and the cold had broken so that it was only chilly. It was attempting to rain, which meant the air was misty.

Walking down the near-deserted street, I caught it. The unmistakable whiff of peat burning in a fireplace. It smells like wood burning, but is sweeter, like grass burning. And I knew instantly where it was coming from.

I always cut through the carpark of a church, and it was coming from the vicar's house. I knew this because his house and garden is a little oasis of country in the city. A lovely brick two-story, with an obviously lovingly-tended garden.

Having been here for so long, I often forget that I live in a foreign country. Lovely, warm reminders are always welcome.