Manchester: the sun was out; the sky blue; the trams were running again.
Hey Bobbie Gentry
where did you go?
There’s a guy over in Collyhurst
who’d really like to know.
It’s always when he’s on a bridge
that he feels so.
How often the imagination compensates for the limited world view of the young.
Town borders; forest edges; the last stop before the motorway slip road. These are the limits of their everyday world.
But then they are elevated high, and their vision expands, the world opens up and they feel themselves diminishing.
Look there, on the horizon: it’s the future; it’s the unknown.
I saw this yesterday while waiting for the 163 bus. My son James wasn’t sure if it was real, or alive, but I think that like everything else in Bury bus station it had given up the will to live.
I saw this on the Facebook site History In Pictures.
Discovered in 1972 in the Solduz Valley, the pair are estimated to have died around 800 B.C.
All those years, locked in this loving embrace.