Over the Sheppey Crossing, looking onto the Swale, a wane smile of an autumn sun caresses on the millpond river. From the semi retired Ridham Docks the skeletal silhouettes of cranes reach up from the scarred bank. Cirrus scores the blue suggesting the beauty of this day will be short lived. The bridge drops to the island. Marshland crossed by gullies rolls away on either side. And gently pulling away from Queenborough a stained white train marks its passage south. I drive on towards the drier settlements of this curious place.


About malekmontag

I am a writer and a wage-slave, and proud father of George Giraffe. I live in the UK, but I exist everywhere. My first stories were published this year (2016) in Short Stories and Tall Tales (Atla Publishing). Follow me on Twitter @Malek_Montag15. My Work is also available on
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