"Firstly there is the unity in things whereby each thing is at one with itself, consists of itself, and coheres with itself. Secondly there is the unity whereby one creature is united with the others and all parts of the world constitutes one world." - Pica Della Mirandola.
Perched on a small rock so as not to disturb what is beneath me, and the bank of the River Severn lapping at my shoes. Where i find myself is transitory, was once underwater, and will be again. There are crows in the boughs of the Oak trees over the river, and I can hear many different tones, as if the river were behind me as well as in front. A bed of distant sedge to my right, and left infact, although one is smaller in size. My microphone is attached and before I picked up my notebook I was listening, marvelling at the roughness of such fragile things, things that will only be here for a moment. I wonder what they sound like when engulfed in the river water, it looks like rain. As I feel my feet digging further into the substrate, the Sun becomes so bright that I can barely see the page I am writing on, I remember why I stopped listening with headphones, why I always stop listening with headphones. But then I spot two adolescent Ducks and the Sun shines on me again. I see the algae dancing underwater, I wish to sit here until it disappears, this fragile environment, listening to how it changes, and listening to how I change.
I prop myself up and attach my microphone to an unknown, to me, Shrub. I can see the imprints that my feet have made, but only for a short time, and now the sky is turning blue. The river shapes the banks and the banks guide the river, I merely sit still and smile at the apparent stillness of a Muslin Moth Caterpillar, diaphora mendica, realising that I will always be noisy in comparison.