Living on the Edge

Our summer house is in a small village next to a stream. Two hundred years ago, there was a hand paper mill here, later on both ironworks and a smithy and, early twentieth century, flour mills. Nowadays there is a small water power plant, and next to that a rather magnificent pool. Which is why there is a paddling spot to begin with, because people have to carry their canoes past the water power plant.

So this is me on the massive dam wall. On the green fence there is a yellow sign saying “Mortal danger! No swimming! Strong undercurrents.” I am not usually allowed up here, which is probably just as well. But I thought I’d give you a big smile from the edge before I jumped down. To your left, my right.