This image has nothing to do with the archive, directly.
It is from a place I visit when I need to think.
When I have had enough of this.
And am feeling rather like this.
Today, the archive moved to London.
I entered through this enormous black heavy door.
Armed with with my appointment details and identification.
Plus, the obligatory pencil and sharpener.
I can't abide writing with a blunt instrument.
Whilst I turned pages and stared at microfiche film, my eyes feeling sore;
I realised this portal to times past is where I am happiest.
The archive, with its silent words, speaks to me with such a clarity that I feel at home.
The world carries on, outside, building auditoriums to modernism.
Watched by the Triton by William McMillan.