Almost imperceptibly, A note of salt slips in and the river rises, darkening to the colour of tea, swelling to meet the green. Above its banks the cogs and wheels of monstrous machines clank and spin, the ghost within vanishes into its coils, whispering mysteries. Each tiny golden clog has teeth, each great wheel moves a pair of hands which take the water from the river, devour it, convert it into steam, coerce the great machine to run on the force of its dissolution. Gently, the tide is rising corrupting the mechanism. Salt, rust and silt slowing the gears. Down at the bank the iron tanks sway into their moorings with the hollow boom of a gigantic bell, of drum and cannon which cry out in a tongue of thunder and the river rolls under.
THAMES RIVER by Elka Cloke
