Reading the Current

I reached the granite abutment beneath the north bridge, keeping low behind a weathered iron mooring cleat as footsteps echoed on the walkway above. Below, the river pressed hard against the stone pylons. To verify the drift heading toward the tributary fork, I dropped a dried sycamore seed pod into the eddy. Watching it catch the center current, I counted the seconds it took to pass two rusted mooring rings set into the masonry. Four knots downstream, banking west—matching where the expedition vellum charted the old river channel. I etched a subtle notch into the timber footing to mark the waterline before slipping into the shadow of the support beam.