Sound recording and images taken on a bright winter’s afternoon near Barwick Ford.
The River Rib is in flood and yesterday had broken it’s banks, cutting off access to the ford and Much Hadham. In the afternoon the depth markers showed that the river was running at nearly four feet deep at the crossing, to what in summer is but an inch.
It was good to be out. A bright sun illuminated wind-buffeted clouds that danced across the sky like scraps of shredded tissue paper. Primrose catkins fluttered like tibetan prayer flags, the trees and wires of the overhead telephone cables swaying and creaking in the strengthening breeze. The woods lining The Rib on either side of the valley heaved to a deeper note and rhythm, their roaring bass section set against the high pitched pizzicato of the passing blue and great tits that called from the hedgerow, browsing the moving branches in search of food with the grace and balance of a high wire act.