I drive to parks and beyond, occasionally cycle. This stretch of the River Mersey is walking distance which has its own attraction. Down the street, cross the road, down the street, reach the stile. I don’t always want to drive. I don’t like driving. The point of a walk is to walk.

In my imagination I try to feel the moment is bigger than it is, stepping over the stile. No, that’s not quite true. I sense the transition, the sudden release from the street and it does, in part, connect with some big wild place I’ve been before. A crack in the world. A green city corridor. A place of river, grass, flowers.

I saw lots of butterbur two years ago. Last year I didn’t see any. This year a few so far, but I’ve been expecting more. I think they were cut down amidst the grass. It’s safe again. You can return.


 

Chorlton Meadows: River Mersey Butterbur

Saturday March 26, 2016