Down the stream gently

A passing cabaret sideshow

Pull to a halt in the public house car park, we have one for the road and one for the river.
Then decant the boat, our home for the next fortnight, afloat on the Grand Union Canal from Georgian Bath down to the Thames via Newbury.
A sturdy little rowboat equipped with paddles for the ease of it, we will travel through locks descend stairways and levels following the topography of the terrain.


Down the clay lined canal we slide dragging summer behind us fingers trailing emerald green weeds whispering promises.
Fishes flash bold, a shoal of cold blooded silver shanked delight.
Helicopter dragonflies whirl overhead squadron leader hovers, performs a relentless inspection multifaceted eyes assess us for danger…”no problem just two hippies, over”


Dippers…ballerinas on river smooth boulders bouncing their backsides in the second position…then flash…a tunnel of bubbles racing downstream reappearing all nonchalant, a quick shake, preen, all green lights to go again.
Water birds, gravel beds, scudding clouds overhead, ever changing green of the leaf-rippling breeze.
Warm sun on our faces, paddling slow motion.
Two irregulars, eyes locked on serenity, passing of problems to a disappearing world left forgotten behind.
This one unfolding glorious around us free floating careless, young and incredulous.


Everything is changed when we navigate a canal.
Roads go over, boats and ducks go under.
Water flows through arteries and veins pumped by a soft steady natural heartbeat.
Traversing farmland the world passes at a slow paddling pace.
Reflecting the modus operandi of industrial history, the tow path once a highway for heavy horses, pulling longboats and barges, slowly but surely taking all basic commodities to market.
Moved in their own sweet time to the mills on the banks, the coal merchants yards and the city centre wharves, now yuppie apartments, casually storing wage slaves where once they stored wealth.


Railways?
Ah now, there’s a different kettle of fish altogether.
Run on parallel lines at prearranged times til reaching the switchback where their track clambers over us, clickityclack clickityclack through punctilious points.
Pour over bridges, scythe down through cuttings, funneled through tunnels, flat lined Victorian minds victorious over both canals and conniving terrain.
Time stopped, missed a heartbeat, shrugged then carried on regardless.
The echoing bank-side clipclop faded as the age of steam triumphant declared time and motion a more profitable way forward.


Down at water level, daybreak is cooler, quieter, a bone chilling mist-scape greets all first thing in the morning.
Til the sun burns through to tattoo the water, dappled camouflage patterns, light and shade, mesmerising, constantly shifting.
Early bird pastels a palette of joy, inked dark accent outlines a caught moment then
shimmers, reloads, an ever changing miracle of water and foliage, transformation in motion.


Bees seeing in ultraviolet, declaring our bright shirts to be surrogate flowers, hitch hike a ride to their next pollen laden restaurant not yet warmed enough to fly.
Well that’s their excuse we just think they’re lazy, but who the hell argues with bees!
Cows eyes magnify by a factor of five they see us as giants in a circus procession briefly more interesting than chewing the cud, jaws pause unaligned as they think the thing over.
They stand, stock still, sentinels above us, lowing, blowing well wishing kisses.
A brief passing cabaret sideshow, ringside seats, spectators up to their hocks in red ochre mud.


Midday, no escape from the sun direct overhead brings a hiatus where everyone sleeps.
Sweet somnolent snores each a background cadenza, a solo extravaganza, a hive humming thrum of inactivity.
All stops moving, too hot and bothered to bother themselves about anything useful.
Ah, peace.


Each day brings a choice to stop for pub lunches, village green fetes 
WI cake bakes, elbows out jumble sales.
Top up with tourist cream teas sat on manicured lawns of riverside cafes beset with ducks loudly demanding their share…we feed them crisps…they seem decibel delighted.


Tie up in the shadow of an old cracked weeping willow, watch voracious toothed pike hunting for silvery supper, gleaming turn-belly minnows tumbling, flashing away out of danger.


We camp on balmy long evenings immersed in the calm where small exploratory breezes bring darkening clouds built on an horizon so vast, a landscape stretching forever, never seeing the curvature of the earth, so low in the water.
There with dusk descending, insects jump for joy and fish jump for insects and we jump in for the pleasure of swimming, brimming with gratitude, a cool gracious interlude, moon-bathing before bed.


Our tent perched on the edge of crew cut stubble crowned fields
tunnel dim light at the end of a grand day 
brings silence within and without…