Slipstream

Slipstream

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Off-road, over wall, cross footbridge – to a place unheard of, barely mapped, un-named.

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Hidden deep in sparse moorland, a small river valley furrows its way to the sea, several miles beyond any visible horizon.

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Moss and lichen coat ancient walls, like melted chocolate over truffles. The river, and birdsong, provide the only theme-tune available; or necessary.

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Storms torrents fight for race-space around the many obstacles along their course. Carving stone – and memories – in their flight.

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Through calmer pastures the river continues its journey to meet the sea.

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Following by road is no penance; for here they seem woven of emerald ribbon in the afternoon sun.

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More hidden secret spaces beckon alongside – but this time I trace the river to the sea.

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And – ‘tho I’m told one should never begin a sentence with “and” – what a sea.

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On this coast is a beach, Mossyard, of which people dream – until they’re driven to return.

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Caught in it’s slipstream.

Slipstream

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About largelyhelen

Designer, photographer, writer.
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