The great thing about traveling north is that you follow a trail of blossoming blossom!
From the top deck of a London bus I get a pretty good view of these boughs. They sweep past the windows, tapping as they go.
From here I can see into building sites, barristers chambers and bedsits. I can be a secret sartorialist. I can see on top of things where forgotten things dwell, where dirt has collected, where old disused mechanisms languish and moulder.
Intricate carvings in portland stone around windows, atop columns, not clearly seen from down below, but up here, the craftsmanship from over 300 years ago is shining sharply with the shadows cast by an intermittent light.
I can hold a small, slightly falling asleep boy as the urbanity shifts and moves past me. I quickly find my place in amongst the many inhabitants.
It is a home from home.