Water Cress Soup

I LOVE stars, says Grace. And so do I. Tonight they're phenomenal. Moonless, with The Milky Way pushing through. How I love to share the wonder of all this with my children, to hold on to the naive awe that I felt when I was a boy, which has never really left me. Look at all the shapes, Grace says. Ah.. the shapes. Therein lies the story of our species, but not tonight darling. Earlier we went for a walk down the stream, to the little stone arched bridge where water cress grows. I've noticed that it flourishes twice a year, now being the second time. I take off my shoes and socks and step into the crystal clear water that I like to drink. Brook trout dart away at our approach. Grace paddles, gloriously fearless of the squidgy bank and the watery life that lives there. The cat has followed us so we have to make sure he knows when we're returning otherwise he'll get lost again and I'll have to come out and call for him at midnight. Cats get a bit silly when they're too far from base. This one does, anyway. It's dusk. The shadows are lengthening. Autumn cool. I grab a large bunch of water cress to make soup with later on. Before going back to the house we pick half a jug full of blackberries.