A return to the River Brent…
Mizzly, late November. Monochrome. A twilight day. Litter and mud and graffiti scrawl. The last late flourish of Autumn colour underfoot. Trees animated by a twitchy wind, in profile, increasingly sculptural.
Trace the line of the river. A river exposed. Revealed. Fuller than slack late Summer. Run-off after rain. The rain still falling. Intermittently.
An architecture of brick walls and sodden fences, greasy paths and passages-through-hedges. Afternoon arches, bridges and sweeping branches. The roar of the traffic. Insistent. And sound of the river subtler but as insistent. There. And there. As background noise.
The viaduct where Victoria halted her train to savour the view of London. Drenched meadows and pollard willows.
Weather for ducks. Ducks geezering about beneath an ornate bridge, both ornamentation and ducks hidden from the passing traffic.
And, on a bridge over the Grand Union, a message in ‘Biro’ stood out FUN CLUB 2015