Upon wandering the aged streets of York, it did not take me long to stumble
upon a quaint tearoom to take cover from the rain. I do not know if it was the
Old-English signs that could be seen one after the other transcending down the
road, or if it was the way the water droplets splashed each cobbled stone serving
as a reminder of how many downpours this particular path had endured, or even
if it was the realization that I was actually in the countryside and that I had not
heard the sound of a vehicle in over half an hour that made me take a quick
snapshot of my surroundings. Whatever the motivating factor, I later realized
that I did not just take a photo; I captured the essence of being "born and bred"
Yorkshire. Sure, I may have seemed silly at the time taking a picture of a
scene that many had passed every day for most of their lives, but to me this
cobbled street lying in the center of York, England was remarkable. Nothing
was able to stop the town of York from thriving that day: not the lack of
accessibility, after all the streets were only narrow, cobbled paths, not the lack
of popular franchises, and especially not the cold, rainy weather. No, the town
of York was alive that day. This was visible through every aspect, whether it
was the people pacing the streets or the plants hanging from the second story
of each building; it was alive. This day and this scene made me proud to be
from Yorkshire, England because it reminded me of its vibrant history and
vitality. All of which should never be taken for granted, even if it is only
noticed on a wet, cobbled street of York.