The River Trent

I love the River Trent.

The splendid and mighty River Trent.

I love its vastness in width and depth and, in all its moods, it excites me wonderfully.

I enjoy the feel of its caress as the water holds me in its embrace, while it moves along my side and under my bottom, softly but firmly like a considerate and thoughtful lover, pulling me here and there in its strong  eddies and currents, leaving little that I can do about it. I am helpless, as a marionette in its grip.

I love the way it teases me by allowing me to force my way through it, pushing ahead a great pile of water with my blunt retroussé nose, before letting it fall aside and swiftly catch the rest as it rushes along my sides.

I am thrilled beyond ecstasy, when the wind is ahead of me and it whips up the spray into my face, stinging me momentarily and then leaving the water dripping languidly from my fender.

With all the rainfall over the last few days, the river is very high. It is showing its strength and is full of impressive drama. How wonderfully it moves me.

 

 

 

The eddies of the River at Stoke Bardolph

 

The cliffs at Radcliffe on Trent