finchley

To get to Finchley you must pass through the deepest strata of the London soil. As though you are a miner lost in the pit o bones. The journey drags you like a fish caught on the fly, kicking and wailing through neverland until you burst through the surface into the dark light of the land o souls. You have reached Finchley. The morning will be deep and crisp and even. The bones which contain the soul will have slumbered. On the margin of the North Circular, roads bloom like a phalanx of camelias; Davendra croons again; the stop start spider spins its speckled web.