Feet on the ground. I see myself as a happy realist, a feet on the ground and head in the clouds type person. Today, as I walked through Oxford’s cobbled streets I pondered on the meaning of this and how true it is.
My feet fell heavily on the ground, so heavily that I thought I may fall through it. I stood firmly there, reasoning with myself as my head wandered off into the clouds of dreams and hope. I love dreams, they make my footsteps lighter and my spirits sunnier – it’s always sunnier once you get past the clouds, isn’t it? – and I insist on holding on to hope as if I could touch it and offer it tea.