Excerpt: A Sleeping Fire

There’s a point in this town where the places of the everyday switch to the paths trodden by tourists and pilgrims for a thousand years. During the day, the tourists congeal around the cathedral, hundreds of elderly coach travellers pointing at stained glass and layers of history embedded in the walls of buildings altered and changed over the centuries. Mum says it makes them all feel better about being old, being around something that ‘s been around for that long. At night though, these avenues are ignored by those who have moved here. For those of us who grew up here though, they become home. These places are what I would miss if I ever left. The curved walks around ancient pathways and structures, some still standing, others just lumps of old stone, held together with hand-mixed mortar. The lighting here is architectural, casting a beams of halogen light up into the flying buttresses and towers, sending long, arcane shadows into the grounds.