Reincarnated Cthulhu

Oxford was a tree.

Since taking root at the confluence of two rivers, the city had weathered a thousand years yet still thrived with vibrant life. Fresh sap continuously flowed through its ancient veins, giving the city a vigor that belied its age.

Young men barely twenty years old roamed the streets, spreading their youthful energy across the green lawns as they walked. Yet they never lost their reverence for the city, which stood as a monument to harmonious wonder.

Tradition and innovation. Two seemingly irreconcilable entities that somehow breathed together in this place.

Between the famous St. Michael’s Cathedral at the North Gate and the magnificently constructed St. Barnabas Cathedral lay a gap of 832 years and 600 meters. In such a city, the constraints of time so easily faded into insignificance.

Oxford was a city that grew very slowly.

Just as branches sprout from a tree, grass grows, and annual rings form, the city too grew slowly and naturally. Paradoxically, in this city, the longer something bore human touch, the more natural it seemed. Each stone wall and brick wall of unknown age was a work of art embodying natural beauty.

Considering London’s tumor-like, grotesque development, Oxford’s existence was clearly one of England’s great prides. Above all, the most wondrous fact was that this beautiful city was wholly dedicated to serving a single university.

Indeed, Oxford deserved to be called Britain’s foremost academic city. I could confidently say its reputation was second only to Cambridge.