Old man River, he just keeps rolling on.
Except this river, the one I drive over each morning is very much a Lady in my mind. Don’t know why, but she’s certainly not an old man such as the Mississippi.
She is a life-giver.
The river Suir. Her vast blue expanse sections neatly the old town. Viking raiders established the city as one of their first strong holds in 853. So the Lady has seen an awful lot of history on her banks.
Each morning I’m reminded of a Constable painting. Vast swathes of green and forest, snake off into the distance along her edges. The open sea less than 10 miles away.
I would walk her banks but I know what I see is only an illusion.
Between those swathes of green and tree lined verges, lay a lot of houses, even industries of various kinds. All private property with private concerns.
I will not be walking her banks with hazel switch in my hand, taking the occasional swipe at a lazy headed bull rush, for the simple reason no such river banks exist!
But from the far distance they appear to. In my mind’s eye.
Perhaps I will paint it so, like Constable did. He, impervious to the encroaching industrial revolution which was churning up the countryside.
Me? Just generally impervious. Painting what I will, whenever I can. Drawn by the power of the imagination.
At this point I gamely gesture here for further examples of my life of the mind.
This sunny June Thursday.