Andrew Eckert

For the first time in nearly five days, I awoke to the pleasant sounds of silence in the morning. There was no rain, and as I gazed upward, I saw scarcely a single cloud in a broad blue sky. There was no trace of the roommates that had made Oxford such a smelly place that is the consequence of placing so many men into a single room. There was no club blaring music at every possible hour of the night, which made the passage of time run at a much faster pace. Breakfast was simple and light, requiring little work and even less thought. At the leisurely hour of 8:30, we meandered from the London Lodge into the metropolis' sprawling underground that sucked us rapidly down the road to the area of the Cathedral of St. Paul.
A church has stood on those grounds for 1400 years. And though two were destroyed, including a magnificent Gothic glory from the 12th century renaissance, the area was filled with a sense of wonder that connected us to those people, standing alone in an England divided, prepared to construct a timeless memorial to god and to their own grandeur. The present structure was constructed by the famed architect Christopher Wren, and lives on as a testament to his brilliance, and to the universality of his ideas, that echo through buildings such as the American capitol and elsewhere around the world. The interior was filled with monuments to every major British conflict of the past 260 years. The men who defeated Napoleon, defended the Crimea, toppled the Kaiser and battled Hitler all had a place, with the two greatest monuments reserved for Britain's greatest modern warriors: Nelson and Wellington.
Still there was not enough time to look, much less see everything in the impressive church. Thus we moved on to the museum of the city of London, which told the city's story from the Roman foundations until the great fire of 1666. The main focus was on the medieval period, of which precious little remains. Because the city is so full of life it is natural that the older parts that are decaying should disappear, as have most traces of an age that many now summarily dismiss as dark.
Our final destination for the day was the infamous tower, whose history can be summarized in a few great stories that never lose their edge in spite of their age. Mostly they involve Henry the eighth, but my favorites are those that swirl around his father Henry the seventh. Though many blame Richard III for the murder of Edward V, I see Henry as the clear candidate. No one may ever know the truth.
My problem today has been simple: not enough time. Though there were many unique images, there was a constant shortage of time to peacefully sit and draw. Still, perhaps tomorrow will be better.