By the river

I am perched on a smooth stone, the Buckland River rippling past my feet – clear, shining water, slooshing and swishing, gurgling and splashing over rocks that have been rounded by centuries of washing. Small sections of white water break up this shallow, moving mass, filling the air with the sound of turbulent playfulness; I am mesmerised by the patterns formed by the flow of water over the stones.

The river smell is sensuous and fresh. Every breath in, a melding with mother earth; every breath out, a setting aside.

A butterfly lands lightly on a glistening pebble, to drink, then flits off again. I follow it with my eyes, and watch it do the same again, closer to the bank. For a moment, I become the butterfly and the feeling of lightness and absence of thought is exhilarating.

Returning to my self, I have the sudden feeling I am being watched. I see it, further upstream –a giant turtle. It is a gnarled old tree trunk that has fallen in the water, but looks so real, I check with my binoculars. Nothing would surprise me here – everything about this place feels timeless. I am so totally alone here.

A black duck lands on a smooth section of water, by the turtle, breaking up the reflection of an overhanging tree. I immediately think of Leunig’s duck and am reminded I am not alone. I wonder if the duck will paddle downstream to join me. I hope that it does. I regard it through the binoculars to bring it closer. It paddles in a little circle, and as I watch it, I am transported to another time – the occasion of the duck and the chocolate cake.

Once, on a very low day, in a difficult patch of history, I sat crumpled in a dark room, struggling with a depression. It threatened to overwhelm me, but I managed to stand up and walk to the kitchen, make myself a cup of tea and cut a slice of chocolate cake that a friend had baked. I then summoned the wherewithal to take myself outside, into the sunshine. As I sat down at the outdoor table, a duck flew over the fence and waddled right up to me. I shared my chocolate cake with it, convinced it had come to remind me I was not alone, and to congratulate me on my fine effort: moving myself from the darkness into the light.

I set the binoculars down after I watch the duck make its way to the river bank and disappear between the grasses behind the turtle. The sun goes behind a cloud, and instantly the scene is transformed into greyscale. For a moment I feel desolate and cold. A raven flies low, uttering a mournful ‘yaaark’; the timing seems uncanny. Shortly after, the duck emerges and flies off.

I stand to stretch my legs just as a fish jumps up out of the water and lands again with a plop.

The sun is blocked by a bank of black clouds; as I pack up the binoculars and make my way back along the track that brought me to this haven, I sigh.

I am content.