It hadn't been immediately obvious. Like a silent trespasser it entered so quietly that at first I hardly noticed its presence. Yet a dark persistent fog, that wouldn’t seem to lift, had settled in. Alone and abandoned, my unfulfilled hopes and dreams lay shattered in the wind.

Getting out of bed suddenly required more energy than I could muster, so I slid back under the duvet, pulling the covers over my head. Slowly my bed became my sanctuary, my only source of refuge. But broken sleep brought little comfort – my dreams growing more disturbed, haunted by images that I would have preferred to forget. Even the simplest tasks, like taking a shower or washing my hair became too much effort. By the time my appetite had all but disappeared, I'd grown decidedly anxious and jumpy.

'For goodness sake Gail - You’re acting like your life is over, you need to pull yourself together,' my mother had almost demanded, in the vain hope of snapping me out of it. Seeing my face crumple, she quickly changed her tack. 'You’re far better off without him. Things will get better with time, you just wait and see,' she soothed. Yet despite my mother’s optimism I was slowly falling apart.

I tried putting a brave face on it, but who was I trying to kid? My future seemed to be stretching out in front of me, like a desert road with no clear indication of what lay ahead. Staring up at the ceiling, I quickly realized that sleep was no longer possible. Dragging myself out of bed, I glanced around the room that we had once shared together. The bed was unmade and rumpled, unwashed clothes were strewn across the floor, and layers of dust gathered on the furniture. I had to look away. I could almost feel the walls closing in on me, so, throwing on some clothes, I grabbed my jacket and set off to walk.

Cutting a line through the grassy meadow, I followed a trail that wended its way down towards the river. Even in the distance I could hear the flow of the water, as it gently followed its slow-moving path towards the open sea. Sinking into the grass besides the water's edge, I gazed across the greenish hue. It was a quiet peacefulness that greeted me, and birds and insects darted and dived across the water's surface. As I followed their nimble movements my vision blurred, and I finally gave way to the tears that had been threatening to fall. I wept for the beauty of my surroundings, for the pain of living and for the pain of being alone. I didn’t hear the approaching footsteps, and the sound of the man’s voice startled me.

'Beautiful spot isn’t it?' he said.

I glanced up to see an elderly man, standing a little way off, staring out across the shimmering water.

'It’s...spectacular,' I replied, struggling to find my voice. I quickly turned away, averting my eyes, embarrassed at the thought he might have witnessed me crying.

After a few moments of silence he spoke again. 'Been around these parts before?' he asked.

'No...no I haven't,' I answered shakily, discreetly using my fingers to brush away the tears.

'Ahh, well you couldn't have picked a better time of year. You know this part of the river is a haven for plants and wildlife. And if you’re lucky, you might even catch the sound of the bittern, the bird that nests among the reeds. Ever heard one of those old fellows calling?' he asked curiously.

'No, I can’t say I ever have,' I replied, staring out across the water, unable to disguise the tremor in my voice.

'I live just back yonder,' he continued, motioning in the direction of a small row of cottages, a short way off in the distance. 'I come here every single morning, regular as clockwork, weather permitting of course. Some mornings I come just for the sheer pleasure of feeling the sun or a breeze upon my face, and at other times to allow the sounds of nature to fill the void. The river is old and wise, and makes a man feel at peace with himself,' he said, sighing contentedly.

I nodded my head – silently wishing he would just leave me alone with my thoughts.

'I haven’t always been blind you know,' he said in a matter of fact tone.

I craned my head to take a closer look at him. I’d been so wrapped up in my own thoughts, I hadn’t even noticed the white cane he was holding by his side.

'I’m very sorry,' I said quietly, unsure of what else I could say to him.

'Thank you my dear, but don’t feel bad about it,' he replied, a wry smile forming on his lips – like he could tell I’d just been studying him. 'You’d be surprised how unobservant seeing people often are – but over the years the blindness has become as much a part of my life as breathing. Anyway, these days I don't much need my eyes, I've learned to see far more with my other senses.'

I wasn’t exactly sure what he meant. But before I had a chance to think about it his voice cut in again. 'And for an old man...I sometimes talk too much...'

I guess this was the point I should have made my excuses and left. But the old man seemed pleasant enough, and I was tired of thinking, and had neither the heart nor the energy to make a move. Before I could have second thoughts I heard myself saying, 'No, really, you’re fine. Please, carry on.'

“Thank you,” he said, almost gratefully. Edging a bit closer he slowly eased himself onto the grass, wincing as he sat. 'Ah, it feels good to rest my weary bones,' he continued, 'And this is my favourite spot to do so. There's something about it that draws me back time and time again.'

The old man sighed. And then as if he knew of my unhappy heart his voice dropped. 'You know my dear, nothing is ever quite as bad as it seems.'

I could feel the tears welling up again. 'I wish I could believe that,' I said quietly, 'but right now I’m not sure that I do.' The old man simply nodded his head, almost as if he understood.

Another silence hung between us. I glanced his way once or twice, but he appeared to be lost in his own thoughts. And then suddenly he began speaking again. 'You know I've never told this to a soul before, and I'm not sure why I'm telling it now. You see it all happened a very long time ago, but I’ve never forgotten it...

I was almost ten years old, way back in 1943 when I first became aware I had a problem with my eyes. Of course at this time the country was at war, and the war had made life difficult for all of us. Anyway it had been a warm summer’s evening, and I’d left my bedroom window open overnight. I woke up to the sound of an insect buzzing around the room. I put my head under the pilow and tried to ignore it - but it was a persistent little fella - and continued to circle above my head. Eventually I sat up the bed, following its movements back and forth, until it finally settled on the ceiling. As I lay there staring up at it, I suddenly noticed a mass of tiny black spots floating in front of my face. I rubbed my eyes a few times, thinking the spots would disappear - but when I opened them again, they were still there.

'So what did you do?' I asked.

'Well, I was only a lad, and at the time I didn’t pay a great deal of attention to it. A few minutes later my mother called me downstairs for breakfast, and by the time I was tucking into my cereal I’d completely forgotten all about it. I thought that was the end of it, only over the following months the black spots reappeared from time to time. But I only seemed to notice it in the bright light, so I brushed it off as being some sort of peculiarity with my eyesight that I didn’t understand. I told myself it would eventually cure itself...but of course it didn’t. I was slowly going blind - only I didn’t know it.' I could hear the crack in his voice, and he swallowed before he tried to talk again.

'Eventually, I was tripping over my two left feet, and suddenly I was really scared. I finally plucked up the courage to tell my mother what was going on. Thinking it was probably nothing serious, that maybe some eye drops or a pair of spectacles would sort it out; she made a doctor's appointment. After a thorough examination, I was referred to an eye specialist, and then a series of hospital appointments and tests began.

There’s no easy way to tell a lad he’s losing his sight, and no easy way for him to accept it. When the official news was finally broken, that within a few years my blindness would become permanent - I refused to listen. I could still see as well as the next person, well maybe that part was wishful thinking, but I could still see. I felt sure they must have made a mistake. My mother, God rest her soul, broke down and wept. She wept for her only son who would have to bear this difficult cross, and she wept for my father who was far away at the time, fighting for the allies in France. But of course the specialist were right. Over the years my eyesight slowly continued to deteriorate. By the time I’d turned twenty one, I’d completely lost all vision...'

'I’m sorry to hear that,' I murmured.

'No need to feel concern my dear,' he replied kindly. 'Not that I’m saying it’s always been easy. It most certainly hasn’t. I was growing up, and I didn’t want to be different from other young men. There were times when I felt I could almost accept my disability, didn’t have much choice in the matter, but there were also times I felt desperately angry and frustrated that I wasn’t able to see.'

I shifted a little to make myself more comfortable.

'Don’t get too close to the edge,' he added hastily, a trace of concern creeping into his voice. 'This part of the river is pretty deep, and there are plenty of hidden reed beds. It's easy to get yourself tangled up if you were to accidentally fall in...'

I felt my face colour, as if he knew of every dark thought that had ever crossed my mind.

'Very strange that,' he continued. 'The one thing that strikes me most about the river is that it’s very much like mankind. The river lives. It moves and it breathes. And just like us -it has its own personality and different moods.'

'I’d never really thought about it like that,' I said, as I gazed at the water as it slowly swept past and disappeared beyond my vision.

'I don’t suppose many people do,' he replied, 'But the river has always been a vital source of life. Communities have built their lives along its shores and in its depths. For many it brings hope and prosperity. It can be as calming as a lullaby, placid as a summer's day.'

'It looks amazing today,' I said, becoming more aware of my surrounding.

'Ahh, but you must never underestimate it,' he said knowingly. 'It can be utterly ruthless and destructive. When the river gets in a rage it allows simply nothing to stand in its way. It has no need for principles, kindness or generosity, and is without prejudice or preference. Those who have felt the full force of its power - know only too well how unforgiving it can be.'

The old man paused, and then he continued.

'And then if you move below the surface, start delving in those deeper waters; it’s far more deceptive than it initially looks.'

'What do you mean?' I asked, suddenly finding myself interested in what the old man was talking about.

'Well some of us have learned the way of the river, to swirl and twist, blending and moving with the natural flow of life. Then there are those who spend their whole lives swimming against the tide, fighting and struggling against the raging torrent. I'm sure you recognize the type I'm talking about; they never seem to get very far in life do they?'

'No...I don’t suppose they do.'

'And sometimes you might discover those who are so deep - you could almost lose your sense of direction, or give up long before you reach them. Others are of course about as deep as a puddle, why I swear you’d break your neck if you attempted to dive into them,” he said, his well-worn face breaking out into a thousand wrinkles. "Of course the river has its predators, both above and below the surface. Worst of all, are the ones who lie in wait on the bottom of the river bed. Before you know it, you’re completely lost in the murky depths...'

The old man sighed again. 'Yep, the river is very much like the human race. And just as one day we will return to the earth, the river returns to the sea.'

For a few minutes we both sat in silence, the old man's expression blank as he stared out absently across the water. I'd begun to think he'd forgotten all about me when he spoke again.

'You know, having a disability, didn’t stop me from wanting all the same things as other young men. And when I was eighteen I fell hopelessly in love.'

The old man allowed a broad smile to crease his face. 'Now Jean, well she was something special. She was smart, and funny, and full of enthusiasm for living. Maybe that's what attracted me to her in the first place…her adventurous nature. Of course I'd told her from the start about the problem with my eyesight, but she was never one to let anything put her off. She had a lot of spirit did our Jean.

She also had big plans for the future. Before she settled down to domestic bliss, babies and a bucket full of dirty nappies, she wanted to live a little. Together we planned to travel the world. Anyway, we were young and foolish, and thought that nothing could stand in our way. It was all we ever seemed to talk about, the oceans we would cross, the far away lands we would see. But I was slipping further into the darkness, and although I would never admit to my fears, I think deep down I knew that it would never happen. Maybe Jean had her suspicions too...but the fantasy seemed...well it seemed so much better than the reality.' The old man paused, as if he was gathering his thoughts.

'After a while, I felt it pulling at my heart. I loved Jean...but...but I knew I could never leave...any more than she could stay. I had too much pride to beg, and as for Jean...well she was just so caught up in the romance of the whole idea. In the end I felt I had no other choice -but to let her go. And in the blink of an eye - it was over.'

He sat there for a moment, still, gazing across the large expanse of water, 'She left a few weeks later.'

'Maybe if you'd have only asked her to...she might have stayed,' I suggested hopefully.

'Yep, indeed, maybe that’s true. But sooner or later...it would have come between us. And eventually she would have resented me for it...and I don’t think I could have lived with that. But then who hasn’t at some time felt the sharp sting of rejection, or the dull ache of loneliness?'

He bowed his head. I could feel the old man's sadness tugging at my heart. It was always as if he was touching upon my own life, as well as his.

'And did you hear from her again?' I asked softly.

Raising his head again he replied. 'She sent a few postcards, but after a while they began to dwindle. It was a difficult time,' he continued in a low steady voice. 'I was still grieving for her loss - and at the same time struggling with the fact my sight had almost faded completely. But there was a part of me that secretly hung on to the vain hope that one day she might return.'

'And did she?' I asked, longing for a happy ending.

'I never saw or heard from Jean again. A few years later I heard through a mutual friend that she’d wed, and was busy raising a family in Western Australia. For a long time I thought I’d never love again.'

'And did you?' I asked curiously.

Slowly a smile spread across his face. 'Oh yes my dear, I most certainly did. Life has a funny way of sorting itself out, especially when you least expect it. I can recall the day that I bumped into my Mary, or rather when she bumped into me. In fact I remember it as if it was yesterday.' He gave a little chuckle.

'It had been a long haul, but I’d finally come to terms with my blindness. I’d accepted myself for who I am, and always will be...and was busy just getting on with life. Then late one afternoon, I was in the town. I'd just finished a bit of shopping when a slight drizzle started to fall. I was hurrying towards the bus stop as fast as I was able, when suddenly this figure appeared out of nowhere and almost knocked me off my feet.

“Oh my goodness...I’m so sorry...I wasn’t looking where I was going,” I heard a woman’s voice saying.

As I listened to her voice, I thought it the most beautiful sound in the whole wide world.

"Me neither,” I said, grinning from ear to ear, leaning against the wall to steady myself. And then I burst into laughter, and so did she. Anyway, Mary helped me to retrieve the packages I’d dropped, and soon we’d struck up a conversation. There we were, standing in the rain, talking and laughing like a couple of teenagers, as if nobody else existed. And after almost thirty years together, her voice still has the same effect on me.' The old man sighed contentedly.

'Endings and beginnings, these are the unavoidable rhythms and cycles of life,' he said thoughtfully.

And finally it all made sense. I almost smiled. It wasn’t the old man who was blind after all, it was me. Despite what I’d thought we’d had together, Stuart had made his choice. It was over I reminded myself. Over. But in my heart of hearts, had I really let him go? Why had I persisted in struggling against the tide? I gave a small sigh. It was time to face my sorrow and move on, I could see that now. But would I sink or would I swim? As I grappled for the right words I could feel a surge of hope... Goodbye my love, I whispered in my heart, goodbye.

Somewhere off in the distance, the sky began to darken with the promise of a summer storm. The old man’s voice cut into my thoughts. 'I think we best be making a move young lady. It's about to rain very soon; I can smell it in the air. And if I’m not home shortly Mary will be sending a search party out looking for me,' he said, chuckling.

Suddenly, a 'booming' sound like a muffled fog horn rang off in the distance and echoed across the river. 'That’s it,' the old man cried out excitedly, 'That’s the bittern, the bird I was telling you about. Just listen to that cry! Isn’t that the most amazing sound you’ve ever heard?'

'Yes, it is,' I said, smiling. And for the first time in a very long time I threw my head back and laughed, I really laughed.