I spent the last weekend in Durham. When I walked into town to meet my friends on Thursday, through that familiar wood, across the bridge and along the cobbled streets, I actually felt like bouncing up and down. It was cold, it was muddy, and when we walked home one night we saw Death standing quietly on a bridge. (We had been forewarned by three drunk undergrads who had been shouting about Death as they passed us. 'Oh my god! Oh my god! He had a scythe!')
I love the first one. I've always loved that view. That picture, though, gives me the feeling that Durham itself is slowly burning away from one side.
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