![]() ![]() He’s done it before, after all, when a boy and in good company: the brave tomfoolery of a midnight dip as the old year dies in the new year’s arms. ![]() Nearer he goes to the water, and puts out his tongue to the briny air: Yes - I’ll go for a dip, he thinks, dropping his coat on the marsh. ![]() He unbuttons his coat, he holds it open, but it’s not enough: he wants to feel the wind’s edge strop itself sharp on his skin. “ I’ll take a cup o’ kindness yet,” he sings in his sweet chapel tenor, then laughs, and someone laughs back. I’ll go for a dip, he thinks, that’ll shake me loose and coming down from the path stands alone on the shore, where deep in the dark mud all the creeks wait for the tide. The collar rasps at the nape of his neck: he feels fuddled and constricted and his tongue is dry. It’s cold, and he ought to feel it, but he’s full of beer and he’s got on his good thick coat. “I’ll just go down to the water,” he said, and kissed the nearest cheek: “I’ll be back before the chimes.” Now he looks east to the turning tide, out to the estuary slow and dark, and the white gulls gleaming on the waves. ![]() He’s been drinking the old year down to the dregs, until his eyes grew sore and his stomach turned, and he was tired of the bright lights and bustle. A young man walks down by the banks of the Blackwater under the full cold moon. ![]()
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