The village was a bustling port at one time, and from the sea-lock (boats could leave the canal basin directly into the river) for a few hundred yards towards Old Kilpatrick there was a boardwalk where steamers could dock. When I was young the remains were much more substantial that the lonely black timbers that point somberly from the water today, but it’s perhaps all the more atmospheric for that. I see my past here and a past that had grown old and faded before I was born.
Ah the passage of time, always something to stir thoughts and feelings.
This evening the water’s edge was at its best, the colours, the biting cold, the somewhat aggressive looking swan. It’s a no-horse town where I live, but damn it’s got its moments.
This just in: The Morning After.