Tuesday 26th April, 2016
Sat, back against the industrial crane, left foot out over the water, right leg knee-bent, book on thigh.
Stillness. So still, so quiet.
Rumbling, presumably traffic, on the edge of hearing.
Across the river, sat on steps, one guy beatboxing, standing beside, one guy freestyling.
To my left:
The Matthew, moored a slight distance away from the dock wall.
Deep blue sky, dark grey cloud.
Lights of expensive living.
To my right:
Row of dead industry, cranes + sheds + tram tracks.
Even the industrial museum is gentrified, modernised, not how it was when I was younger, & walked along the tracks and sleepers.
The Pyronaut, The Mayflower, The Balmoral.
Deep blue sky, plane lights, a planet.
And across from me?
Lit up by the blue-light-lined trees behind & beside it, the slave-named bridge, Pero’s bridge.
A naval ship docked & moored by the Arnolfini.
I saw it arrive the other day. Yesterday?
It’s blocking Cabot’s view.
Lit restaurants & bars.
The Gothic cathedral, the red-lit peak of Cabot Tower on Brandon Hill, the Colston Tower with its top floor of yellow light & name in red.
Gateway into the city.
The locked-in tidal waters of the river Avon resting under, in, & around the city it built.
Image credit – AccessAble