Now you're here, unhook the burden, and let it rest upon the wild grass. Walk away. Away from it, and down, onto the rocks. Away, and over the wetted stones, around the weeds that smell of sea, and right up to the river's edge. The rushing edge of the Crouch. Yes that tidal river, that unheard of river that runs like a forgotten dream, across the wilds of the Dengie Peninsula. Here, is your journeys-end. And what you've come for. 

And now you're here, you can breathe. Breathe, and look about. Breathe, and listen. Take it in. In, all of it. All of this landscape, with its simple, natural, emptiness. This hurrying water. Crystal clear. Crystal clear and spinning, and curling, in wind folded waves. Feel the wind, how it buffets your face. Tugs at your jacket. Hear it, sweeping the waves, this way and that, from left to right, right to left. Wind against tide. 

A few inches beneath the flowing surface, you see some tiny little trees. Submerged plants, wind-bent in the strong current. You crouch down, reach forward, and dip your hand in. It's another world. A clear translucent world, of pure cold. Fingers wavering, you cradle one of the little trees. It feels like rubber. A tiny, little, rubbery tree. Anchored, and growing almost impossibly, out of the bare river bedrock. It's living. What a wonder of nature, you think. What a wonder of nature, cries a bird. A redshank. Two redshanks, flying directly overhead. With fingers still cradling the tiny plant, you look up. Up at them calling, and as a child again, into the too bright sky. 

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