Love Letter 2.

Instant(/Instance of) Nostalgia

Harking back to this post from November, I am trying to hold an elusive love for this city, which is so beautiful, and sometimes so difficult for me to love.

Facing down the Royal Mile from the Castle Esplanade

To love any city, you must forgive its clutter of people, its indolence, its indifference, sternness, distance.

A walk through The Meadows

Victoria Terrace

Victoria St, taken from Victoria Terrace, in bright and near-balmy air

There will always be history; streets stacked upon streets. The writing of others. There will always been this fine balancing act between peace and chaos, between the unsaid and the unsayable.

Greyfriar's Kirkyard, looking towards Candlemaker Row

To love this city, Edinburgh, I have to move past my past, the written and unwritten signs, palimpsests, to make old markers new.

Ramsay Gardens, on the Esplanade

Over the cityscape to the Pentland Hills

Resignify. Remake. Write over. Learn to see. Gather. Write my own story between the stone and the sky.



Filed under 2012, art, Edinburgh, Scotland

15 responses to “Love Letter 2.

  1. Learn to see…yes. The state of editing a story, a city, a friendship.

  2. Love this:”To love any city, you must forgive its clutter of people, its indolence, its indifference, sternness, distance.”
    So true!
    Enjoyed the illustrations – and the writing – nice last line

  3. I imagine it must be a bit more difficult to see one’s own history/story when surrounded by all those layers and shadows of ancestors. Love your poetic impressions.

  4. Deb

    Are you perhaps in love with another? I’ve found there are some cities that touch me with an instant crush, and others that never will. The moment I touch ground in Boston my nerves are strumming with joy. Always have from the first moment. I felt that way in Prague too, to a lesser degree, even though I only spent two weeks. The last Finnish city where I lived; I really wanted to like. I did. Try as I might, wandering around taking photos, sitting on the river contemplating, cafe after cafe, it never quite fit. I was able to exist there, but it was never more than a roll in the hay for me.

    Your photos and words certainly want me to visit Edinburgh, though. Maybe someday soon, I will!

    • Ah, at heart, I am not a city girl. I can appreciate their beauty – I’ve been stunned to silence in Florence, loved wandering the sleety streets of Amsterdam – but it’s all a little too much. I need hills and mountains and the sea, though I probably won’t find them for a while yet.

      • Deb

        I know exactly what you mean. It’s an absolute necessity to balance my city dwelling with the freedom of the country. I love mountains and sea too, especially mountains. It’s where I feel most myself, where I can breathe. I thought suburban living would be the answer, but I’m starting to feel stifled and when I’m not, I’m not feeling anything at all.

    • Deb

      *make me want…oy!

  5. CJ

    I love trees and hills and creeks too much to stay long in a city but I have found beauty even here in Los Angeles. And in London, And Rome. And even Detroit.

  6. What a beautiful city. In my home town, everything is new and shoddy. The decay is less picturesque than seedy, and the streets are strewn with garbage. I suppose I shouldn’t be so down on it. I should look for something to love, but . . .

    • But you won’t be there forever. When you move, perhaps after some time you’ll be able to look back at the place with more fondness than now seems possible?

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