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| It was a lovely day - it was very like this, but more Springlike |
We were able to see the damage done by the floods to the other bank. One landing stage was a ruin as the footings had been washed away. But there were euphorbia and alyssum in the gardens, and the weeping willows were very bright. I felt much better after coming quite quickly downstream. aha, coming downstream was easy!
Home is the river, first, where one is not
anyone in particular, but part of the
whole picture, the nature of things. I am like
a duck, doing my thing, as they do theirs.
I’m at home in a boat, with a pair of oars, rhythmically
chonking my blades in the water, effortfully
pulling through and stretching forward, carefully
taking the catch and thinking about the skill;
pulling through evenly, using the feet to press
harder again through the stroke. Suddenly goes
the green flash of a parakeet, or the grey
angled outline of a heron, then I fail to think.
When the light falls on the water in the spring,
I hear my boatman voice, and the song that I can
sing.
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