Sing to the Lord, bless His name;
Proclaim good tidings of His salvation from day to day.
Tell of His glory among the nations,
His wonderful deeds among all the people.
(Photo from cemetary in Paris.)
…And Primrose Hill, if you must know. Yesterday I spent six hours at Regents Park. I brought another book Suzanne loaned me, An Equal Music, and read that for long stretches sitting in cool shady spots on the grass. I think all of London turned out to the park to lay there in the sun or in the shade with their friends or lovers. Many couples lay close, contentedly, dozing in the heat. Parents and children walked the paths while old people dragged resisting little pooches. Sometimes my heart ached because Ian and I came here in its winter emptiness and saw these same, but different, sights. Now the tree greenery provides cool patches and Taste London draws crowds to eat in the hot sun. Football (soccer) players dotted the fields, while many people simply sunned or shaded themselves. I noticed that no adult women wear shorts. They wear long pants or skirts of all types. I had worn zipper pants and weighed, sweating, the benefit of fitting in versus sweating to death. Eventually I converted my pants to shorts and just accepted my American tourist look, worth it for the coolness that accompanied that state.