The sun had set. It was a perfect, calm, June evening, a few days before the solstice. In mid-stream, the river flexed and twisted as it flowed over unseen contours, but ahead of me, by the bank, was a still pool reflecting the evening sky. Under the Chainbridge, Swallows skimmed and hawked hunting for moths and flies. Soon they would be replaced by bats emerging from the trees overhanging the river on either bank. In the still pool the twilight sky morphed from orange to purple as the night grew darker. Suddenly two bright points of light were visible. A conjunction of Venus and Jupiter. A line-of-sight illusion making them appear so close together in the sky but in reality millions of miles apart. The surface of the pool moved and the conjunction shimmered. What had disturbed the image? A Swallow or bat dipping for a drink? A salmon or trout rising for a fly? A sudden gust of wind shattered the mirror in the pool. It was time to return home. The river keeps her secrets for another day.
Images by Simon Etheridge.
