haze

when I used to go to Polzeath in North Cornwall as a child, sometimes the Atlantic would be totally flat - barely a ripple of a wave, even as the ocean met the shore; a mirror of light on the surface of the water, as far to the horizon as the eye could see. . .

.

. . .my mother used to say it was "as calm as a mill pond", which I always thought was a beautiful phrase

.

but why doesn't one ever find a ripple on a mill pond?
does the wind not touch its surface, ever?

first thing this morning, the river was totally calm - there is no breeze; yesterday was scorching, by the early evening a heat haze had settled over the city - blending in around the edges above the West End with the fumes of the traffic and general smog that London still seems to be able to produce

as I write the tide is taking the waters downstream, east, and the only disturbance on the river's surface come from the eddies and currents around the foundations of the bridge; the occasional leaf floats past, reminding me that it is almost autumn and soon the trees will be bare

my mind drifts from watermills to windmills

via Camberwick Green and Trumpton. . .

and there is only one place where it rests, momentarily, on its journey elsewhere. . .
..

here is a box,
a musical box,
wound up
and ready to play,
this box can hide
a secret inside,
can you guess
what is in it
today?