2007. Jubilee Bridge. I had written a raging, mournful, lovelorn but hopeful poem and Smoke, a wonderful (and much missed) literary journal, had accepted it for publication. The editor wanted an accompanying image - what could be better, he suggested, than the poet gazing at the object of her affection? That was, of course, the city of London.
I don't remember my hair being, as Matt put it when he sent me the photo, "like the whole of a New England forest has blown onto your head..."
But I do remember how magical that time was. I had met someone wonderful just days before this picture was taken - and he would be my husband three years later. But most of all, I remember how every day I woke up feeling like I was on some kind of drug, when everything was new, and the air was practically tingling with possibility.
I wonder if I should go New England with my hair again.