Sketch, Glasgow, Summer(ish)

Even under a clear sky and a warm sun, the river is all white foam and black water, so fast does is flow. Trees lean over it, testing it with tentative twigs; a few have drooped all the way in, and in winter you might suppose them to have fallen; but now they’re alive with leaves.

Perched above the river are crowded back-gardens crowded closely together; a terrace with a beer-garden; a red-brick factory, long shut up, and much higher from the rear than the street; and of course Glasgow University, soaring up to that airy spire through which the sky can be seen, as if it were made of ideas.

In the park, people are walking: some chattering, some in contented silence; some in bitter argument, some in contented argument. Kids are doing skateboard-tricks.

Unusually for Glasgow, the sound of pipes and drums is drifting across from somewhere over the river. They sound like fire-drums, and warning sirens.