Small pilot boats ‘n ridden rafts threw cheers toward the hull, their voices smashing gladly ‘gainst the iron.

A gull alit, a-lightly, on a length of timber as the timbre of its undulating call caused crashing waves of echoed sound to bridge the Avon. It preened at its grey-tinged feathers before pacing the abutment’s edge.

Two grids, lain down ‘pon each surface, their calculated squares collecting up, in tessellated time, their timeless, abstract forms.