The water calmly flows, its movement almost unperceived. The craft gliding gently only occasionally needing the guiding of a paddle or a stroke to steer.
The surface is so still that even though the water is deep, it is easy to see the rounded coloured stones below, the patches of gritty sand and the flicker of movement from small creatures darting under your shadow.
The light is failing and evening gathering. To the west and beyond the gentle rising river bank, clouds stretch out while leaving a gap above the horizon. Strong light is still present and the Sun, partially concealed, stabs shafts of light through the space. But you can tell that daylight had little time left.
As the craft continues slowly, to the left cliffs rise up from the water’s edge and follow the bend around where the river turns to the south, and in golden light these stone faces glow.
The bend opens up and further on a thin vail of misty haze is hanging low over the surface of the water. The shadow of a small hill prevents the failing light from reaching the wispy fog, and so its greyness reveals nothing of beyond.
There is this sound, like whispering voices echoing from the cliff walls. Their craggy brown and black rockfaces still glowing but dimmer than before.
The whispers seeming to be saying something undiscernible and of a tongue not recognised. But for some reason familiar.
It is then you realise that the water is different. Although still clear the surface is now no longer still, concealing and distorting what is below. You recognise the language of the water is more like the whispers you had heard.
Looking past the bow down towards the now looming fog, tinted pink by the colour of the twilight sky, you hear the sound and you know you should be fearful.
As you progress, the fog is thicker, darker, concealing the source of the sound. The pace of the water quickens and you realise now that the sounds of whispers from the cliffs were an intended warning of what was coming.
Closer the unseen threat is now louder, frighteningly so. You are moving faster towards the invisible threat. You feel the craft lurching unsteadily forward.
In the gloom of the evening as you enter the fog, now resting very low over the water, glancing up time seems to pause momentarily and you see the first of the evening stars. And at the moment you can say to yourself that beyond the fog, beyond the noise or rapid water, past the uncertainty of that which is coming, there will be calm water. And so, for now trust yourself and just press on.
(Copyright 2022 Kevin Palmer, all rights reserved)