Today was a bad day before I'd even finished my coffee, (that's not good). So, after a run not clearing my brain, the next best thing was a walk to the river.
In truth, where I live the river is more estuary than actual waterway. Over a mile wide, the Humber is at its best on a clear, sunny day where the wind remains strong. The results are pictures like the one above.
The wonderful Neil Gaiman wrote about 'The Ocean at the End of the Lane', a great book by the way. This is my real life version ' the estuary at the end of the path'. It's not quite as magical but it does the trick.
Sometimes all you need to remind yourself of the important things is a view. I'd like a few more mountains, but beggars can't be choosers.
I hope your own weekends contains some magical sights too.
The river luxuriated in its passage through an idyllic landscape. The sun shone, birds sang, and all was right. If the river could’ve chosen a final journey, then this was it. If?
The workmen hated the river. Five years of labour ended with a turned valve; the dam sealed shut.
Living by a river fills one’s head with dreams. You can never be sure where it leads but love to imagine where it might. I think more so at Christmas, when the water’s edge coats in ice but the river itself refuses to submit to winter. Like life really, determined.
Reflections in the river
Ripple, as her dreams.
So many possibilities
Against the reeded banks.
It is here the warblers nest
Unaware of her course,
But to she, they are the demarcations
Of a voyage,
A route as far removed
From the concrete hell she flees from,
As her mind will allow.
But why worry where one drifts,
When the act of drifting
Awakens a gladness in a heart she thought lost?
Questions to muse on,
As the mirrored surface
Is kissed by the rain.
Onward to the freedom of the pooling sky.
Onward as a ripple will she.
(Image courtesy of meladori on deviantart.com)