We’ve had just a few sunny days this month, so it was great to go for a decent walk recently with W in pretty warm sunshine for November. Our usual meet up spot is on the Town Bridge; it’s always an interesting view whilst waiting, further enhanced since late September by the latest mural courtesy of Public Art Chippenham.*
By the river — a short introduction to this piece.
By the river: Quick Notes
This one’s by Sophie Mess (@sophiemess_ on Insta) who’s noted for her vibrant botanical art and she doesn’t disappoint in this instance. I’m glad to admit I made a small crowdfunder contribution to this one, especially now the mural’s been revealed as the subject matter resonates with me and quite a lot of this blog’s content. I’m pleased she’s included the word Unity in her piece, which is a link to Chippenham’s town motto, Unity and Loyalty. It’s good to be reminded of it during these strange and relatively turbulent times.
Next up is a competition for the next project: ideas for the decoration of the Open Reach and traffic signalling cabinets in the Artisan Quarter. Entries will be exhibited in the Yelde Hall in January – so we’ll have a gander at them then. If they’re anything like the ones now gracing the streets of Shrewsbury, we’re in for a treat!
* I wrote about the first one here.
NB If you think Sophie’s work looks familiar you may have seen it gracing various underground stations and posters around London during the summer to advertise Saatchi Galleries’ Flowers exhibition. You can see the amazing artwork she did inside the gallery here – which I also saw when visiting in July to see my dear friend Susan’s RHS Gold Medal winning botanical art. Nothing but the best for Chippenham!
By the river appears here to highlight key ideas for readers.
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Beneath the gnarled roots, where stone meets flowing lace,
the river murmurs secrets—ambers and copper trace.
Your shoes, half-sunk in mud, forget the weight of road;
here, time dissolves like pebbles in a desolate odd.
Tides rise, they fall, they stitch the bank with silver thread,
while ferns exhale where shadows stretch and kneel instead.
You feel the earth in veins, a pulse both old and new,
as steadfast as the oaks—yet tender, too, like dew.
The current’s soft lament, a hymn of rippling vine,
unspools the day’s unwound thread; you’re still, undone, serene.
In this quiet alchemy, where air becomes to stone,
you learn to walk as grass—unhurried, deeply rooted, alone.
“Your words root in the river’s breath—
where tides hum hymns of silver,
and earth cradles time, soft as lichen.
Here, we become meadow,
quiet as dew,
held by stone.”