Bruntsfield

 

I first read this sign as Muriel Spark Way (like Yuri Gagarin Way) then realized it was Muriel Spark Walk though I read that as Muriel Spark's Walk. I then wondered if she walked in some peculiar or distinctive manner. Perhaps with a slight limp or with flamboyant or perhaps very graceful movements, like a fashion model would. Maybe with the purposeful gait of a doughty head mistress or an angry policewoman, or like a party lady tottering in high heels or like a cowgirl, moving to her inner music's beats on some line dance night. 

Probably none of these apply but I presume she did walk amongst the mere mortals of Bruntsfield, quite normally, once upon a time, somewhat detached, observing and noting, laughing to herself and grinning at her fellow humans with their strange habits, loves and behaviours; there across the uneven grounds of Bruntsfield Links. 

Not much had changed since except everything, her beautiful world with all it's fine aspirations is a fading shell, hollowed out, as if a stray and nasty  tongue had sucked a Malteser to a soggy husk; people, lovers, dogs, coffee, inner city relaxation, chatter and rough picnics. Still there but mostly unobserved because daily life doesn't matter so much, there's too much of it about, constantly recorded and replayed on social media. What remains to be said that is actually new and fresh?

Far away but nearby, the Crags hang under the city sky.