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