There’s a river that runs through the heart of the city – under shopping centres, between motorways, skirting parks tentatively. It looks like you’d expect – grey, brown, more of a sewer than a life-giving water source.
It’s the type of river which looks comfortable with a trolley beached on its banks, less so a king fisher.
My eyebrows furrowed deeply when I saw it dart upstream, completely confused by the discord of the moment sandwiched between otherwise expected circumstances panning out around me that day.
A king fisher in the sewer, for me that’s the perfect analogy to use when the clouds don’t quite cut the crap raining down in your direction.
On that day it was a welcome reminder that however impossibly dark or a hard a situation, as improbable as it may seem, there is very likely some light to be had amongst it. Because that’s how nature, life, and kingfishers, roll.