Some amble aimlessly along its overgrown banks to rid themselves of life’s anxieties and stress.

Others walk their dogs to propel balls on it for man’s closest friend to submerge, paddle and retrieve.

A fisherman sits patiently, attaches bait and casts his line on to it to make his catch before release.

The adolescents dare each other to take the plunge in its fast moving current.

The mother duck leads her offspring up and down its stream guiding their safe passage.

The heron stands motionless to peer into its depths in search of fish,

As spitfire swallows swoop to grasp at insects hovering above its surface.

The kingfisher perches on a branch before plunging beneath its soft ceiling.

Leaving the haven of its reed nest, a grass snake lifts its head to swiftly swim to seek its prey.

Stirring at dusk to secretly emerge from the dark shadows of his holt hideout, the otter explores and plays along its banks, before diving to hunt in its swirling current.

It is a haven. It is a hunting ground. It is a death field. It is the source and cycle of life. It  has a beauty like no other.