tourist in my own city

I’ve lived in Oxford longer than I’ve lived anywhere in my entire life. I don’t know if anywhere will ever feel like home – I think people will always be my home – but Oxford feels very close. I’m an incurable romantic, praising Oxford, mumbling sweet nothing into its hidden recesses and alcoves, and getting tears in my eyes even just “popping round” to the shops. I love my walk to the shops, especially when I encounter this Norman door as soon as I step out from the commercial buzz and bright lights of the shopping area. It immediately stills my soul:

A small side street with cobblestone – I love running my hands along the walls. The walls have worn cobblestones too. The whole city carved in stone; it feels like a carapace to me.

 
Coming out onto Christ Church and Old Tom:
 
 
And lastly, our home along the river, where I usually drop my keys and snag my skirt on the roses that trellis the door so lovely-ly and wickedly.

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