Day 89

The river is black and the trees and grasses that slope down to its banks are indiscernible. Wrapped up in thermals with our breath vaporising before us, we are walking back to our apartment when Wiggy notices something. I lean against the drystone wall of the bridge we are crossing and listen. The water moves slowly and quietly, yet tyres passing over tarmac and noisy combustion engines hide subtle sounds. But it’s there, a soft lullaby.

I lean further over and Wiggy’s hands cup around my waist, while I cup my hands around my ears to create dish-like receivers. It’s there, occasionally I hear a mellow tune coming up from the black waters. I can just about make out long and lilting notes that sound sweet but sorrowful.

We have just passed the concrete shell of a house. The ruin no longer has windows or doors, now, its openings are filled with thick veins of ivy and its floor is resurfaced with moss and weeds. Past the ruin is an overgrown garden and then darkness slopes down to the river banks. From our ride-by earlier today, I know that this river connects to a sweeping meadow of hardy wild grasses and scrubs. The plants looked mineral-rich and golden. Now, only the slight rise and fall of hillock is perceivable.

 The melody is ever so mild, I try to pinpoint its origin in the darkness. Cars pass, diesel fumes mix with the aroma of wood fires and the musty brew of the river. The lullaby is so gentle, almost a whispered chant, it wavers over the current and then vanishes. Moments proceed and I try hard to hear it again but the song has ended. Instead, I hear a rustle and up the slope, a shape emerges. The grasses swish, a tail wags, paws pad, and then the slender head of a dog appears. The dog is very thin, when he turns I notice the ridges of his ribs protruding. He looks around but looks through us. A quick check of the ruin, a cautionary glance towards town, and then he pads back down the slope.

With time, more details of the bank begin to emerge. The light is low, but change and movement provide clues, and as I watch the dog, I notice the form of scrubs, trees and two more creatures. It seems that this pooch is a papa, a small pup rises from the breast of its mother. Past the pooches, I make out a large and uncertain shape moving by the river banks, possibly a boat bobbing on the current. I look harder and wonder if I can see another figure, was this the person signing? 

Thick trunked trees with roots and limbs surround the boat, the craft moves and the shape is impossible to make out. Then, on the road, a truck passes and the glare from its beams momentarily reveals a cloaked figure. I look again, but the glare has diminished my night vision and this time, the dogs, the figure and the boat are gone.