Wild waters

Here’s a little girl who is happy in the sun. The same can’t be said for us. After the deluge over the last week the weather has continued to be showery. Between the downpours we scurried down to the river and the impact of all that rain has been thoroughly felt. The river is still swollen and furious but it must have been a good metre higher over the weekend.

The banks look like someone has combed them stiffly. Everything is bent over in the direction of the water flow and coated in a dusty grey mud. Our delicate wild flowers are long gone and bundles of sticks are caught in the nooks of trees not far off shoulder height. At our favourite bend in the river it looks as though the water gave up keeping its course and just pounded through the woodland.

A little wooden bridge that teeters over a gushing burn as it joins the river has vanished. Fortunately this is not altogether unexpected and we follow the wire that lassoes it to a tree to retrieve it from the mud. It is soon replaced and my poor mum gulps as she sidles along it. The farmer who farms the land directly opposite us is gloomy. He’d spent a good deal of time and effort drilling a field for sheep feed. Most of the seed, not to mention most of the field, has been washed away by the power of the rain and the engorged river.

Little Owl is is unperturbed by the destruction. After all, my Dad has bought custard doughnuts. How bad can life really get after that? She blankly refuses to eat any of her dinner until it emerges that she is saving space for her doughnut. There’s no way she’s getting away with that and the doughnuts are put firmly out of sight until she’s cleared her plate.

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