Striped with military precision in purples, brown and green, two little ducks: two fat-bottomed synchronised swimmers, webbed feet symmetrical.
A fallen oak leaf casting gentle circular ripples in the still of the canal. A new leaf sauntered from the tree, sideways, sideways, a parachutist looking for its mark, hit too far adrift from its mate - cast its own gentle circle, ripples reached out, further further, till the two circles met like a brief gentle kiss. I almost cheered.
A cormorant - wings out to dry, looking lofty and a little pompous - the canal's bald eagle waiting for a dollar or a flag to adorn. Coots collect behind its back sniggering, turning the cormorant's poise into comedy.
An untouched, unwoken part of the canal, black like sunglasses - a reflection so perfect that if you'd never seen a reflection, you would think it was something you could touch, and if you did touch it, and found your hand went through the other side, you'd be sure it was magic.
A widow's veil of midges lurking in the bend of a bridge surprise me: "Oh" - my mouth makes the shape it says, inhales, exclaims, and snorts out midges in a perfect arc of spit.
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