Cabot Tower

by Mel George

Out of breath, having lost count after eighty steps, we lean over the stone balcony and peer, exhilarated, at the gardens below. I force myself to preserve a few moments of suspense before I lift my head and the glorious view hits me; the ships in the harbour, all the roofs of the city, the hills beyond, and somewhere over there, Wales. The crisp, cold, bright autumn day cuts at my cheeks, and I stand on my tiptoes and breathe it in. Glancing at your gloved hands on the rail, I feel like I should say something profound; I fix my eyes on the sparkling horizon and think, but all that comes to mind is, 'I love you,' which is true, but isn't what I mean. What I mean is that I love this view, I love this city, I love this weather, this moment, this feeling of being alive. And that's what you mean too; so we grin at each other and stand there silently, drinking in our kingdom.


Mel George recently found out that Cabot Tower has been closed for two years - shame on you, Bristol City Council! She edits Brit-lit ezine The Pygmy Giant and blogs here.