I follow the tow path down, past the boats and the houses, to where the canal widens, stone sides dropping away into open banks and keep walking, greenery either side of me. I catch a glimpse of something white in the shrubbery, turn and see a little egret perched on a branch. There is a hidden long pond here, through the bushes, between the canal and the lake. There’s no path to it; it is only accessible to the animals. As I watch, three, four, five egrets rise from its surface and flap away, further down the hidden channel where I can no longer see them.
The greenery on the bank of the main canal thins, and I can see the shallow edge of the water, the gravel through it. Tiny water boatmen skate, their feet making tiny circles. A moorhen startles and shoots away from me, out of the undergrowth, flapping loud as its long toed feet trail in the water. Virginia creeper has cloaked the trees here so completely I don’t know what species they are beneath the carpet, but the creepers leaves are turning, pickled pink and flaring red. They are spots of light in an otherwise grey morning.
On a patch of grass beside the path I spot mounds of turned earth – moles perhaps? I don’t know enough to be sure. Then a sound startles me, a whomping, honking beat. A swan, high overhead, a wheeze with every wing beat. The call is not of effort but of existence. I am here, it seems to be saying, I am here and I will not hide
Bonnie Radcliffe 