Photo by Micael Widell on Unsplash

The river is insignificant,
Dug from a smaller river
During canal building days.
Forgotten now.

I remember long barges filled with coal
Traveling heavily in the dark water.
Barges pulled by shire horses, straining and sweating
Along the wide path beside the river.
The men who handled  the horses were large and sweating too.
Black with coal dust.
They wore hob-nailed boots.

The river flows to meet the Thames
Twenty miles or so to the south.
There is mystery in the opaque-looking water.
any evidence held in the mud below
Of those beings who forded the river here
To found a  town,
And of all that has passed since.

Swans haven’t forgotten the river,
They sail, full-feathered white against the dark water,
Necks curved to dip their beaks.
I imagine them gathering feeling from the water,
and wonder what makes them glide to each other
Until their beaks almost touch.
They do not come close to me.
But preen sun into their plumage, then are gone
And I am alone with the silent water,
And a mill wheel creaking in the distance.

The river is always a stranger.
I wander beside it in the rue filled meadow
Or sit on its banks,
Sometimes pluck a reed to curl in my fingers.
The river absorbs my thoughts, carries them away
Swirled gently in its currents,
Until my mind is drained and there is no more to think.

Soon small sounds can filter in,
A fish plops, the willows swish,
And I think of Midas’ secret whispered among the grasses
On the other side of the river.
Birds fill the air,
Somewhere a rooster crows, a dog barks once, then twice,
And I get to my feet and walk back into the world.