A poetic journey from Kentish Town to Notting Hill — Whizzing down, the bike ticks and clicks,
Dried from the windless weather.
The crisp sun beats my cold face,
The buds too shy to tell the stunted grass, yet.
But, they know it’s nearing,
Spring and I besieging. A calm cruise through Kentish Town,
The chirps and children mix the sound,
Before…