The river Weaver laps quietly as Fred meanders down Bradford Road, eyes noting debris among the waterways and culverts. He's just turned sixty and moves slowly, admiring the snowdrops that rise along the thicket, pausing as a kingfisher's feathered brilliance of blue, cyan and copper arrows in the morning sunlight. He turns onto a quiet residential street, removes leaves from a drain before heading towards number 47. Towards Lisa. The door has been freshly painted, daffodil-yellow – bright in the cold March air. Fred knocks. He hears movement inside. His heart eddies.
It seems a world away from last autumn when he was out here amid the fear and worry as the rain fell and fell. Alerts issued, roads closed, trains cancelled. And Fred, local warden, speaking to neighbours, giving…
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The Simple Things (Digital) - 1 Issue, March 2025