The moment I reached my usual spot on the bridge, I looked over the railing. Just then two ducks emerged heading downstream. The male had striking black and white features around his head and breast, the female a tuft of feathers sweeping back from her head. They took my breath away. They moved swiftly in the current and then hung out, as can be seen in the picture: two black specks near the ice jutting out from the left bank.
By evening, that ice had been swept away and the water's edge reached as high as the snowy strip on the riverbank. The water was brown, rising and moving fast.
I am pondering the connection of the river opening up these past days and Holy Week. "The veil of the sanctuary was torn in two from top to bottom," might be a good start.
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