Water, and the year’s end

My first post for The Human Seasons – a project exploring seasonality and the archaeology of a year. The old year is ending…

The Human Seasons

Sunday.

Along the canal.

In brightness, an artery: a sparkling supply of life and space, nurturing the city.

In darkness, a vein: deep and sluggish, purply oozing, thick with the cares of the cyclists, cygnets, peeling hulls and wailing gulls, as it drains down to the Severn.

It slips silently between alternate states. Today my tread starts heavy. The air is dense and the willow boughs stoop. Whitening leaves tickle the nut-brown water.

I do not love this place. But it has its role in the rhythms of my life. In a calm section, flanked by factories’ booming tin walls, clouds appear in pristine reflection. It is ever a mirror for my mood, this waterway, and today is autumnal. The ducks find cover from the chill wind on concrete pontoons, amongst the last streaks of violet buddleia.

On to the docks at Diglis, where the canal disgorges passengers onto the…

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