Every year is getting shorter never seem to find the time.
Plans that either come to naught or half a page of scribbled lines
Hanging on in quiet desperation is the English way
The time is gone, the song is over,
Thought I’d something more to say.
Pink Floyd – Time

She drifted on, absently moving her arms and legs in a gentle dance. Despite the water all around, Julie’s lips felt parched and dry and her head ached with the dazzle of the sun. She suddenly felt very vulnerable out here in the estuary. If she got cramp or just became too exhausted to stay afloat, she would die. Or what if a boat hit her? She didn’t exactly have a beacon on her head to warn them off. She gazed listlessly and saw, or perhaps imagined she saw, a twin-masted sailing ship cutting its way through the deep-water channel heading towards the open sea. Its prow sliced open the grey water to reveal the white that was within, leaving a wake of mixed grey and white particles behind it. She bobbed up and down for a few seconds as the wash hit her; it was a strangely pleasant sensation, she decided.

Excerpt from Swimming Against the Stream, ©Bobby Seal
Picture of Dee Estuary near Thurstaston, ©Bobby Seal