New Lines on the Land: Nature's Veins
The quiet rebellion of forgotten streams
These voiceovers are recorded ‘in the field’ with ambient sounds and occasional stumbles. My aim is to give you an evocation of place and a moment of tranquility. This week I’m down in the dich ;-) and at the end of the recording, the geese flew over.
Greetings from the moss,
This week seems a good time to find that even the ordinary can become a welcome diversion.
It’s hard to tell the difference between ditches and burns (streams) here; the latter have long been detained and imprisoned, destined to an afterlife as—yes—a ditch. Yet I am endlessly called to look into them: water continues to have a hold on me.
On my way into the woods I meet a ditch; clamber down, across and back up. Sometimes I stop in the bottom on the sticks laid there to provide passage over; sometimes I look back from the opposite side, or follow it a little to see if the water has escaped the mundanity of its incarceration.
In June:
Crossing the ditch, biofilm catches the eye. On approach, the shallowing flow is brackish and muddy in colour; look back and it has sucked the brightest blues from the sky. I think of unpolished rough lapis lazuli but no, this is closer to apatite. Even the scummiest places hold beauty if you look closely. Mayflies again dance; perhaps they find joy in unexpected beauty too.
And sometimes what I notice prompts me to attempt to write free verse about them. As the last golden glory hangs to the trees:
Descend Cross Ascend A line drawn—scored—sliced—through earth Direct course Confined sunken subjugated Fringed; rush and reed Moving slowly Running silent Livid Lived Inhabited This smallness swallows sky Pulls down trees Inverts gravity and growth Hungers for colour Freedom of movement to respond to the rain Wind Wind Choose its own path Travel a little Feel its way across the land Slip through the grasses Cover the moss Bask lizard-like in sunlight Rise up into the sky Mingle with the leaves before escaping on the wind But for now the water watches Brooding quietly plotting, planning… Be careful if you turn your back on a ditch
In my letters last November I was contemplating water, and sharing words written in an effort to understand its continuing fascination for me (12 years so far). They, and many of my images at the time, came from old ditches. As the water has begun to return, we have resumed our conversation.
Last week’s celebration of silver birch revealed that it’s a popular tree. Thank you for your suggestions for my ‘100 words’ list; I’ll share this once finished in a follow up when their winter charms are paramount.
I appreciate your being here, and your encouragement. Every 💛 comment and share from email or in the Substack app helps more people find FLOW. A especially BIG thank you for helping me through these, by recommending FLOW and for supporting my writing through a paid sub or a small tip.
Until next week,
Encore:
There is always light to be found.
Yesterday, as the frost melted, a single sparkling droplet of water hung tear-like on the end of a birch branch.
All words and images are copyright © Michela Griffith except where otherwise noted
This is so beautiful - you have such a unique style of communication.
I am also fascinated with water, Michela. We don't have ditches like you describe, but we do have tiny springs and streams in the mountains. I spend so much time looking at, talking to, and photographing them!