Power, real power

The scruffy man will not go. Power, some say, is an aphrodisiac. Well perhaps that explains Mrs Curry leaping into the arms of John "Superman" Major.

We are such a puny breed. Nature has power that we can and do harness, however on occasions she destroys us with a waft of her hand.

This large lump of tree was left on the bank of the stream by a tree surgeon but not here. It originated 150 metres upstream. It weighs about 75Kg or 150 Lbs. Once rolled into the stream by some yoblets it settled into position and provided deep cover for young trout. Then, this Spring, a week of torrential rain turned this mild mannered brook into a roaring, gushing cascade. The water became caramel coloured as the soil from farm fields was washed into it, the brook became a river. The log disappeared for a while in the narrower sections of water, then reappeared in this spot, along with the smaller piece on the left. 

Now that's real power. Not the sort enjoyed by any shiny arse in Westminster. 

Surprisingly this years trout hatched, despite the disruption and layers of silt on the gravel beds. Life goes on, so do we, on and on and on.......