Reflections again, this time of trees along the river Trent a few weeks ago. Walking in the rain, trying to avoid the fifty yard long puddles on the paths. Stepping through muddy grass with shoes sinking into the earth. It was wet! Subtle hints of green in the bushes that was knocked back when the temperatures dropped and the snow fell. A whole section of the newly restored river bank washed away and the new housing estate on the flood plain is threatened. Why build on the flood plain anyway? Money!
Tree or trees? One limb broken. The grey path reflects the grey sky. Water rushes down the river, brown and muddy. In speight, almost overcoming the banks. The rain is trapped on the pathways, the grass sodden and squelchy. I walked along there this afternoon as part of a long walk. I can feel the wet mud between my toes overtopping my shoes, pulling at their soles. Water is like glue. Stronger than gravity. My feet lift out of the shoes as they lift from the ground. My feet still feel cold and are aching hours afterwards. Perhaps I need a bowl of hot water to soak them in. I wish I’d got some bathsalts! Time to rest.
Over there, beyond the houses, that’s how close the countryside is to this city. Wooded hills and farmers fields, the river Trent lies in that valley. Its the beginning of a great river that eventually empties out on the East Side of England near the mouth of the Humber after meandering through Nottinghamshire and I think Lincolnshire.
Our city does not sit in a conurbation. Its not surrounded by other towns in a massive urban sprawl. Yes there are towns nearby, but the gaps between them have not been filled in by housing and industrial development yet.
No great mountains or rolling plains nearby, but a gentle green land eventually leading to Welsh hills in one direction, or the flat lands of the East. The industrial Midlands South of us and the Peaks of Derbyshire in the North East and the Lancashire coast to the North West. A small geography lesson.