Thursday, 18 July 2013

Down by the Weir

Outside of the town and on the far side of the hill the river ran in twists and curls. Trees shaded each bank and in places large rocks protruded from the water. In the summer we would go down to the river and lie in the sun or bathe in the cool water. It wasn't deep and the current wasn't strong and it would have been perfect except for the noise of traffic on the nearby road.
     One day while exploring further down stream, away from the town and the cars we discovered an old weir, still in perfect condition. The water flowed over the smooth rocks and tumbled noisily down the far side. Below the weir the river became very shallow for a while and we paddled about and watched for fish. Then someone had the idea of sitting in the cascade of white water, which we did, letting the flow cool our backs, hot from the sun.
     We stayed all day swimming and wading, enjoying the peace. The next day we came back, and almost every day that summer when the sun shone. It was our secret place. Our garden, our play park and we shared it only with the birds.

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