A Tranquil Place.
Sunrise: 05.33 Sunset: 08.40
This is a tranquil place to sit and wile away a few spare hours, particularly when it’s hot, sunny, and steamy. It can be pleasant on a dark evening, too. I sit quietly, dreaming of long-lost days spent slaying fire dragons and saving maidens from one calamity or another – even certain death. My dreams can be very intense and vivid down at the pond, relaxing on my lounger.
Sometimes I ponder the future and wonder if there is another crock of gold buried somewhere on the marsh, and where it might be. I have the right kind of spade for unearthing crocks; I just need a break.
I’ve learned how to protect myself against the hordes of biting insects – they no longer make my life on the marsh a misery. Nature slides slowly by, and I am invisible to the marsh inhabitants going about their every-day lives.
Ducks glide in during the evening. The marsh fox lies in wait, hoping to grab the unwary. A muntjac deer trips nimbly through the thick vegetation, alert to every sound and movement. A kingfisher streaks low over the water, and the resident coot shouts a warning that the fox is near by.
It’s all too easy to slip into a deep sleep, only to be rudely woken by an inquisitive squirrel or some other small creature trying to climb inside my trouser leg.
Sometimes I hear strange noises. On a few occasions, I’ve heard the sound of bagpipes floating in on a breeze. I’ve no idea who is playing the bagpipes; Kidderminster is a long way from Scotland – they play in the afternoon and evening. It’s not the onset of senility, either; other people have also heard the wailing pipes.
The canal is not far away. I hear the metallic ringing sound of the Falling Sands lock gate sluice ratchet being operated.
Whoa, there’s something crawling up my leg . . . !