The river path after rain

Three days of rain had filled the river right up to the edge of the path. In a couple of places the path itself had become part of the river, so the walk turned into a slow search for stones and roots to step on.

The water was the colour of weak tea and moving fast. Small branches went past quicker than I was walking. Near the old footbridge a grey heron stood on a half-drowned log, completely still, until the moment I took out the notebook.

On the way back the sun came out for ten minutes and everything steamed. Boots will need a day by the door.