Morning light

A quiet, tree lined side street in North London. Crisp early morning air and bright sun. Long terraces of Victorian houses, three storeys high occupy both sides. Most look well maintained family homes with neat, small front gardens. The characteristic, almost monotone period features stand out in the low morning sunlight. Stark black and white tiled footpaths lead up to front doors that are painted dark colours.

Garden railings cast sharp shadows on the pavement; black and white lines like piano keys, now being gently tinkled by the more hazy shadows of moving leaves from the trees, seemingly dancing through the gaps. I can almost hear it but I think there may be a wind chime in someone’s garden. The air is fresh and smells green somehow.

Not many people are around despite it being post school run. Just a couple of women jogging, chatting as they go. An old lady pottering in her garden returns to her door with a cheery “hello” to the cat. She’d been attending to a border of tall sunflowers, still in golden bloom, basking in the last rays of early autumn sun. They are the only colours in the street, rising out against the strongly contrasting light.

At the end of the road is an old church. It’s in the process of being converted into flats. The outside wall is intact and has been renovated, but looking through the glass-free arched windows, you can see that this wall is all that remains of the original building. The inside is now a criss cross of red steel girders and rafters. Strong sun rays fall through the open roof at angles, making the inside glow.