Went for a walk by the river at the end of my friend’s street. The evening was warm still and we saw a swan family pulled out by the weir, the parents with their strong snaking necks, the big fluffy babies huddling against the wall. The parents raised their heads and stared at us until we moved on. We walked away from the waters edge, through a scrubby field filled with tall grasses and bursting purple thistles before we looped back round to the river path.
The long grass and wildflowers on the banks had been cut and there were straw like strands on the river’s surface. The water was shallow but dark, treacle brown and rich green. Under the surface, algae and weed streamed in the slow current, rippling like caught up hair, decorating the underwater world with deep green swirls.
The path was blocked by water works, so we turned up the hill instead, past two horses munching in a field, then into the woods. At the crest of the hill the trees thinned and the roadside was thick with tall bright daisies. The air was still and heavy and the world felt solid. Turning back into the woods again, we passed twisted oaks and huge old tree stumps. We sat on a bench looking out through a crack in the canopy. All the fields were laid out below, the road, then the river, beyond. The light was gentle, dropping into the gold pink of sunset, and we turned and went back to the house.
Bonnie Radcliffe 