The skies are laden with theatrical shapes – dragons and kettles and chubby babies that form then transform, pewter-grey, white, and an agonising light against the blue.Grand Gabarit clouds


Trees cut a dark contrast – almost silhouettes that tremble and flicker, heavy with waiting and solitude and the certainty of an end. Their sap begins to drag a course. Soon they will drop their burden and sleep – and dream of regeneration – and wait again.


Mile on interminable canal mile – the boat’s engine drones northward.

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