by Paul Cudenec (who reads the piece here)
As I crossed the bridge the other day, I saw what I first took to be a branch, swept along in waters swollen by never-known weeks of Occitan rain.
But then I realised that I was looking at a pair of antlers borne by a stag.
There is no way for me to know if he fell into the river or chose to be there, but as he passed beneath me there was no fear in his eyes.
Swimming with the flow, rather than against it or across it, he held his head high and raced on towards a fate unknown.
winter oak 
I love your posts. Thankyou. Maybe we should be like salmon going home and swim against the current though in these interesting times.
LikeLike
There is more than one current that we can imagine, I would say. The social direction being imposed on us obviously has to be rejected. But the current we can flow with is that of life reasserting itself…
LikeLike
Lets hope the stag made it out safely.
Sent with Proton Mail secure email.
LikeLike
I hope so. I watched him until he reached a bend in the river, where I hoped he might be able to reach land, but by then he was too far away for me to be able to see if he did so.
LikeLike