Levels

Water splaying on a demarcated patch of ground. A man walks over the thread of knee high tape pinned at four corners to make the square to get to his friends. Two girls stand facing each other in the flood which is put off beat by a wind picking up from underneath. I am cycling along a tow path by the side of the canal. The wind behind me. I reach a hand written sign that says that from the 18th of august passage is restricted because of work on overhead pilons. I don not know what the date is. I see a barrier shimmering in the distance but need to get closer to know whether it is actually locked or not. It is locked. It tells me the date. I turn around into the wind. It's hard going whereas before I was just nudged out, a small tendency or inclination becoming a pattern without effort. Hardly really able to call it my own. Now I need to consider the execution of muscles against a wind force. It is one thing up against another. There is dust blowing up past the factory road just after the overhead bypass. Buses that run along streets in central london are being craned up in the air in open faced wharehouses. There are never any people on the ground in the whatehouses- just drivers of vehichles on the roads.
The canal ripples with light in its centre-flow. Towards the edges it is slowed with detritus and green floating moss. A heron is poised, aligning itself at an angle with something it sees and waits for through the surface of the water. I haven't got a clue what that is and haven't time to see the stillness turn into anything else. Not that I am gong any where except back to the park, but the light is burning at my eyes reaching dangerous levels.