Wandering through Chichester Cathedral Close, after visiting the Edward Burra Exhibition at The Pallant

After I'd been to the Edward Burra exhibition at The Pallant, I needed to clear my head - the early paintings had been like doorways into a feverish world, beautiful and cruel - I swear I could smell the scent of those black girls on the stage of the Harlem Theatre - they swayed their wide hips to hot jazz - they had bare shoulders and fantastic hats -

The later paintings, too, affected me profoundly - the pale landscapes had white roads which vanished in yellow mists - blue wraiths floated over mountains - I looked at the photographs of his poor crippled fingers - how did he ever manage to paint so many marvels?

I decided to visit the Cathedral Close - I walked past the elegant houses of the clergy - closely mowed lawns   were smooth and calming - I looked up at the dark foliage of an ancient yew tree -

I loitered in a narrow alleyway, between high flint walls - delicate initials were carved into a crumbling white stone - I saw hints of secret gardens - the cathedral spire showed itself over tall chimneys and attic windows - creepers clung to venerable stones -

There were musicians from Peru in the High Street, near the Cathedral Cross - they made their sad music - they looked at the world with their dark eyes - their long hair flowed down their backs - I thought, again, of Edward Burra's paintings - of those strange flowers, those exotic figures, those conjurations of deadly years -