After thirty years living beside the silent, clay-bottomed waterways of East Anglia, a writer is now learning the vibrant, liquid language of a Somerset stream. The River Frome, swollen with winter rain, rushes through a limestone gorge, speaking in a multitude of voices where it meets resistance.
The Liquid Language of Limestone
The author describes a compulsion to listen when fresh water is given a voice, a passion shared with fellow diarist and wild swimmer Amy-Jane Beer. The stream's music is a complex symphony, rendered audible by the percussive clash against unyielding objects and the burp of air released from those collisions.
This gurgling, burbling sound is so evocative of muffled conversation that it sparks an understanding of why Celtic forebears believed in river goddesses. The Frome communicates constantly: a susurrating hiss over a pebble bed, a light plash against the bank, and great belches when meeting a fallen branch.
Concentration Reveals Hidden Rhythms
Close attention to the water's flow brings surprises. Fixating on a barely submerged stone, the observer discovers the force is not consistent. The river rides up against the rock, spitting tails of froth, but this pressure ebbs and flows. This suggests micro-variations upstream, conflicts within currents, or confusions of eddying waters creating an irregular heartbeat in the stream.
The journey downstream leads to a weir, where the river's diverse accents flatten into a single, deafening crash as it pours over the artificial waterfall. The pounding mass creates a billowing mist. Yet, just a hundred metres on, the force dissipates, and the roar softens to a pleasing murmur, demonstrating the river's capacity for both fury and calm.
Balm for the January Soul
This act of river walking, watching, and listening is framed as nothing short of a mindfulness exercise. On these shorter winter days, immersing oneself in the water's ever-changing performance offers profound balm for the soul. The experience feels complete, almost as if only a water sprite is missing from the scene.
The writer's reflections are part of a collection titled 'Under the Changing Skies: The Best of the Guardian’s Country Diary, 2018-2024', published by Guardian Faber.
