There’s a moment every evening, if you live any distance from the equator, when the sun closes in on the horizon and the long rays strike their golden faces against the bricks and mortar of a thousand cities. The buildings of Red Square take on the appearance of a fairytale, and a few of the fur-clad denizens pause for a moment to wonder. The buildings of Venice appear timeless, sinking into a warm amber grave as the ripples on the canals turn glassy and the housewives in the narrow sidestreets wind in their white washing, feeling its coolness as the evening takes hold. In Edinburgh, hurrying students, black greatcoated bankers and the ubiquitous hard guy in an all-weathers T-shirt heading for the pub to catch the rugby highlights see the gentle uplighting of the buildings on the grey of the Georgian brickwork, and Candlemaker Row and Slaughtergate take on the air of a midwinter festival in a distant, mediaeval dream.
Me
Stumble It! 
