River Stort

Line ahead the ducks paddle in sequence, mother at the head dad acting rear gunner the six downy signets struggling to keep up as they headed for home. Its 6pm the end of a lovely day and I decided to walk along the river bank to the Aldi Shop for a few groceries. Having written my blog about the scarcity of food in my fridge I thought, bugger it, couple of sausages between a slice of bread and a nice mug of sweet tea would be just what the Dr ordered. I consult two doctors these days, Dr John and Dr Andrew, each has a view and today John won out.
This is the time of year when England looks its best. Spring has worked its miracle and the trees and hedge rows are resplendent in green, not just any old green but every green in the book. The riverbank is lined with undergrowth the midges and dragon fly skimming the surface of the water, a world far away from the busy street and the daily commute, a world where time stands still as you relax to a new rhythm. A walker coming towards me said Good Morning and I thought of the shock he was in for as the tow path took him into real time.
The narrow boats and a couple of Dutch barges were scattered around just below the lock gate. The cabin tops a blaze of colour, of potted plants tenderly cared for by the boat owners. These boaties are a special breed as they move with care slowly about their boats, their world shrunk to 70 x9, they have no need to hurry, no need to fuss, their minds cast off, like the boat from the main stream hubble and bubble.
Messing about in boats has been the dream of many, few of us have the courage to step off the land onto a self contained world where the clock slows and the bunk at night is awake to the sounds of another world slopping against the hull of the boat the wind rustling its own tune through the trees, the shrieking  sound of a kill as the business of survival demands that everyone is someone's dinner.