The body alone listens to the passing bee

Ever since I read Mrs. Dalloway for the first time, perhaps 10 years ago, I have been dreaming about Hyde Park. (And Regent’s Park, for that matter, which we now live just a few blocks from.)

On Sunday, which was gloriously sunny and warm, we walked about five or six hours, starting at our flat and then to Hyde Park, through the park, then to lunch in South Kensington, and then to the Victoria & Albert museum. And then home. Exhausted and a little sunburned and very happy.