Herons stride, then stand, silent, immobile sentries. The angry wren, the whispering linnet, golden-beaked blackbirds, the brazen jackdaw, plover and curlew dance and wheel in the air above. Spiders spin webs, mirrored with spray. Slow-moving snails leave shimmy trails. The song of the cricket heralds peace and tranquillity.
Cresses grow in plentiful profusion.
Running fast, or sliding slow, whitewater rapid or black water eddy, swirling, twirling, blowing water bubbles, onward and onward, on my way I go. Through the daylight hours, under moonshine rays, in the heat of summer painting rainbows in the sky, in the cold of winter spinning sheets of frozen glass. Free, untrammelled, that was me. Then came other men. The Age of the World, 4518.