One of my favourite features of my grandparents house in Ireland is the river that flows by the side
of it. The beautiful, historic house looks onto the picturesque river scene on one side. With a view
prominently from the living room, you are able to spectate the Boyne drifting on. It’s dark, murky
waters contrast the bright green from the neighbouring fields, punctured occasionally by
assortments of river weeds. Trees droop their branches which gravitate towards the water’s surface.
In winter, cold mornings bring a weak blanket of fog which meditates on the waterway, curling its
tendrils softly up the banks. In summer, the water is like a mirror; the surrounding environment
painted on it, the world inverted in its reflection. It is only interrupted by dancing dapples of sunlight
which bounce off it in random directions. Whatever season it is, it is always an enchanting view.
Throughout the years, there has always been at least one outing to its waters, whether it is taking a
boat downstream, swimming or going to the sea it joins up with, it is an inevitable activity.
My favourite interaction so far has been paddle boarding from a bridge further up. Although it was
slightly an ordeal actually mounting the board in the shallow river, it is an experience I am not like to
forget. Drifting mindlessly downstream, the fields of cows and sheep slid by. The peace and serenity
of the water infected me. My life seemed momentarily worry-less, my mind void of anything bar
simple appreciation. It is abnormal to experience raw nature like that in our hyperactive, modern
lives.
I look forward to another encounter this summer. Graced as always by its constant presence, I am
grateful to be able to rely on its companionship: knowing that the curves and the meanders of the
body of water we know so well will continue to flow.