I went for a stroll along the Little Avon Yesterday and she’s showing the effects of winter. It seems she decided to take to the fields and left behind a soggy brown mess and the detritus of the flood litters her banks.
There are plastic bottles and bags wedged into impossibly high forks in the trees and the whole scene is rather sad and depressing, though the sight of a healthy flock of Fieldfare’s lightened my spirit.
Spring seems a long way off.
Bosun, as always, enjoyed the soggy conditions, though he got considerably soggier than he’d bargained for when he went on point and slid, in slow-motion, down the bank. Eventually panic set in and he started trying to run backwards a la Tom & Jerry – to no avail – he went in right over his head. The Mallard drake he’d been pointing escaped, startled but unharmed, complaining bitterly at being forced to take to the wing.
Branches have fallen and there are downed trees forcing the current to scour a new course. There are new shallows, and banks undercut by the winter torrent have collapsed and been washed away.
Seeing her in this state is like waking up to realise that the beautiful teenager you married now has cellulite and varicose veins. You don’t love her any less but the realisation is cause for a sad moment or two.
Unlike your other beloved, you know that the river will regain her juvenile beauty come the spring.
I can’t wait!
