We swam in silver today. The silt from the banks made the water silky, slashed with ice blue, swan grey, silver. It was colder this morning, the air heavy with moisture; the rain from the night before had left a chill. We waded past clumps of yellowing bladderwrack half hidden in the mud thick water, feet slipping over submerged slates. We swam out to Emily 2, the luminous orange buoy in the bay, and tapped her hello. The sky started to tip into blue but behind us the hills were still muted, their russets and ambers veiled by mist. In the afternoon we walked through the bog, found ourselves fascinated with moss and waterweed, bent to identify water dropwort, floating marsh pennywort, pond water starwort and square goose neck moss. We passed trees with gnarled faces, knotholes like eyes, shelf fungi like burnt marshmallows. The silver birches were reflected in bog dark enough to hide bodies.
Bonnie Radcliffe 