“
I can see her now. On the day we take the forest path to...
“
I can see her now. On the day we take the forest path to the deep stream beside the alder copse. There a plover calls in the deep woodsy stillness, and then a pair of martins dart across the over-grown path. Through the trees can be seen the thick and fast-moving line of flowing water, a steep bank beneath our feet and flowering at the edge of the water, the purple loosestrife and meadowsweet of spring.
Nell smiles at me, her face shifting in the light of the beech leaves and the vines. Come, she says. I’ll show you my bridge. She takes up a coil that lies near at hand and pulls it tight, anchoring it to a tree with a cloverleaf knot. Beneath my feet it rises, stretched taut to the other side. And then a smaller rope, making a slight uneven handhold above the first.
When we hold the one, and stand upon the other, we rise inches above the flood. Together, we stand there in mid-stream, looking up and down, the dappled light around us falling on shallows and deep pools alike. The water rushing always, without pause.
“
from the (forthcoming) novel SINFUL FOLK
