Today we swam from the steps, walked down into slapping water, opaque and almost milky. Somehow the cold clutched tighter with the sudden descent, but the waves were low, and we swam out to Jeff, buoy number two. Emily had to be forsaken for the day.
When we got back everything disappeared in grey. Low mist, slashing rain, bouncing hail. We watched from our window as the mountains were swallowed, waited for them to be spat back out of the grey.
In the late afternoon we parked at the top of the estuary, walked down towards the mouth. The rain had soaked the land, lying flat on fields meant for grazing. We walked a man-made raised path, long and straight and never ending, like the one in Labyrinth. To one side of us, reed beds and marshland, tiny tussocks of grass glittering at their bases, and in the distance, the wider winding stretch of the river. To the other side were the fields, flooded, the sky reflected dark and shifting. The sheep were scattered about the high ground around the road. In another field, the cows all clustered in one corner, on a muddy path, the rest of their grazing submerged. It was dusk and getting darker and the land stretched away, windy, corners jutting out into the estuary. We turned back. Above, a pure white cloud sat proud against a summers-day-blue sky, but all around us, at ground level, the darkness dominated. It felt like the apocalypse. I grew fascinated by the shapes of the branches against the faded light; spindly birches, solid beeches, twisty oaks. The darkness was so deep now that we knew only to follow the path. A light, bright white, blinding, came at us. For a moment, I could see nothing. The cyclist passed with no acknowledgment, and we turned and watched his light retreating, a circle of yellow illuminating the tree tunnel. I thought about what I would have done if I had been alone and seen the light coming; all I could think was to drop to the floor, roll into a ditch. I always think like this when I’m walking alone, yet I don’t want to not walk alone. We carried on through tall trees, seeing nothing but the slightly lighter dark of the sky, the clustering branches against it. We both agreed it felt a bit murdery, but it was somehow still very atmospheric. We saw lights in the distance, exited the path through a gate and came out in front of houses strung with Christmas lights.
Bonnie Radcliffe 