Linton Falls
We approach Linton Falls through the stile and step up onto the wooden bridge.
Below, the river compressed is instantaneously turned to a torrent.
A fierce, roaring cataract through the moss dappled limestone outcrop, the foaming power of ages.
A freak of geography.
Twenty five thousand years in the making.
Constantly I am drawn back here and not just for the noise and the drama, but this bridge spans more than the river.It is a linchpin.
Where time is folded, a common point of known experience. The same encounter both spiritual and temporal reaching back through generations.
As my forebears and I have experienced the scene so will my grandchildren and their children too.
A fixed point in a disparate, transient world.
I stand and feel they are here just beyond my reach, only degrees way
An instinctive connection. A common bond. Sliding through time.
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