1 minute read

Voices are a River Voices are a River

someone takes a photo of leaves making shadows on the asphalt, nature’s lightbox, scattered harmonies

Phones go near the smaller places, taller places, makeshift microscopes in our hands. A child’s face in a thicket of trees, school children in the hills below, while dragonflies and beetles dip in and out of our vision, suspending time between the parting of their wings.

I hear a story of a river which flowed under the motorway, phantom liquid, life-giver, city-river, transports this community of voices to the park and the place where we walk today.

Someone answers their phone, or twirls a dog lead in their hands, or jogs past in pink trainers and a baseball cap.

‘Have you heard of any river myths?’

‘How can I paint that exact shade of green, a fallen leaf a single blade of grass?’.

‘Where do I meet you?

'Where do I sit?’

I carry my mother’s river inside me, the place she did not cross in Burma. The river Exe and the river Thames, these are the ones I know the most.

My own mythology is made from these riverbeds, silted stories, marsh memories.

Artwork credits

Cover - Art by Pip

Page 2 - Photos by Abby

Page 3 - Art by Chris

Page 4 - Art by Zoe

Page 5 - Art by Zoe

Page 6 - Art by Pip

Page 7 - Art by Chris

Page 8 - Art by Zoe & Chris writing by Davina Quinlivan

Page 9 - Art by Zoe

Page 10 - Art by Hannah

Page 11 - Art by Ursula

Page 12 - Art by Zoe

Page 13 - Art by Hannah

Page 14 - Photos by Abby

Back cover - Art by Pip

This article is from: