January 12th, 2010

2020 lack of vision

its own reward

I struggled along the tow-path on monday under sky so low and grey it didn't even get light at lunchtime. The birds had stayed in, too; just a single magpie on the frozen field, a lonely gull white against a whiter sky. The snow had turned to filthy slush, churned black along Folly Bridge, slippery and vile.

This morning I was expecting things to be about the same; but some tiny fractional increase of light and warmth had woken up the birds. There was a robin, perched outside a narrowboat, waiting for the inhabitants to wake up and give him breakfast. Here a mob of gulls checking me for food. And as I walked across the bridge, hand clamped to the metal rail, guard against slipping in the slush, a wren darted out from almost under my hand, close enough I could feel the flap of its wings. She'd probably been hinting spiders in the crevices on the bridge; they're still there, even in the cold, guarding their egg sacs.

I tried to photograph one, but it was just too dark.

moments between posts

This also happened today:

  • 12:11 Steggy the snow stegasaurus has slumped tragically in the snow, now looks more like a snow cornish pasty.
  • 12:15 He steps out of a gate, across the towpath, climbs down into the river, in wellies and waterproofs! Panic subsides! I see the oar, the boat.
  • 12:18 Fresh flakes drift down from the sky. Look! new ingredients for pollutant slush puppy and particulate granita.