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David: On the canal, as soon as there is sun, there is gleam. In the never-ending shift of the water, the ever-changing valleys and mountains of ripple, the gleam is constant. Gilding the crests for an instant before flitting to the next ripple. It darts from the brass of portholes and the roof fittings of neighbour’s boats. Even on a day filled with bruised sky, as soon as the sun hits the canal, you are struck by gleam. It is a wonderful part of the static of this place.

Jo: You look out onto the water, I look out onto my veggie patch. At this time of year (May) the sun has more hours to gleam onto the plants, and hence suddenly they all grow vigorously. I watch them daily, hour by hour, from my studio; you can almost see them extending their shoots. I am conscious of the sun’s gleam moving from the right side of the patch in the morning and finishing up on the left side in the late afternoon. Here I have a bench, that I often go and sit at with my cup of tea, to catch the last of the day’s gleams.

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