My reflections on an expedition with a focus on immersing oneself in the environment and gaining and understanding of the river, its uses, and its ecosystems.
So I walk, a slow walk, my head bowed low and a cap pulled down to shade my head from the evening sun. In my hand dangles a plastic bag, swinging with my stride and rustling in the breeze. I find a spot. A small clearing in amongst some thicket where the turf has been packed down by the countless hooves of the local herd. I look up, no cows to be seen, no close encounter with beast to be had. Sure the area is clear, I pause, put down the bag and ceremoniously unsheathe the tool of my craft. Glinting in what sunlight remains is the trowel. Forgotten are its days of floundering in top soil, it is plunged into the hard packed earth, burrowing into the terrain and scarring my selected spot on the river bank with a gaping hole. And here I stand. One on one with nature. Just me and the earth. I resheathe the trowel, a reminder of the human world, and I face the opening in all it's glory.
Only one thing of mine remains to be unsheathed. My back to the chasm, I bend at the knees and reveal myself to the world.
The flutter of the breeze is cool upon my cheeks. I feel it too on my face. And in my moment, half sat, half stood, I look out upon the scene: the river flowing just beyond the bank, the sound of the birds singing their evening song, frogs quarrelling over space and me, hovering above the thicket, embracing nature.
Deed done. I wipe my smelly arse and head back to bed. Solid dump.