A Walk on the Canal Side

It’s late and I’m walking on my own along a canal, something an unarmed female is told never to do.  But the night is cool and calm and the few street lights are softly amber like a cigarette silently burning the dark, it makes me feel immune.  Or perhaps immune isn’t the right word as it implies that there’s something of which to be immune, something dangerous.  Perhaps it’s more a feeling of invisibility.  Hot from the gym, sweated off make-up and a thick hoody over my wet hair I walk with an easy stride.  Along the angular contours of the apartment blocks and the inky water of the Thames I make my way.  I feel like a voyeur, passing my time trying to catch a glimpse through an ill shut curtain or angled blind.  There are canal boats moored permanently next to the high rise apartments.  All stained glass, weathered garden gnomes, and wind chimes – a new age haven.  I look towards the mass of London beyond the water and see the pinkly lit eye glinting back at me.  In the canal is a tern raft and a family of swans have made the place their home.  Two majestic parental figures, thick necks strong enough to break a man’s arm, and three large ugly grey cygnets hold court.  They approach passers-by moving together gracefully as one unit, expectant of food.  It’s almost as if they know they are the queens own.  Further down past the canal is another story, scavenger foxes roam busy streets hungrily eating scraps and fearlessly standing their ground should I chance upon one who has found a worthy morsel.