Down to the river curiosity draws booted steps. Today is a day to kick off boots, if the washed squash is still there, oddly trapped: wade out to find out if it's real, plastic or other as yet uncertain thing.
It is there, an orange shine between weeded rocks.
It still seems unexpected.
The shallows are shallower, today: the boots have clearance, an inch at least below the rim. There's a comprehensible path for the rescue, which contains mild peril.
The water pushes, impressively weighted.
Rocks underfoot are loose, and slippery.
Measured steps, practiced calm, a hand stretched to steady on a halfway boulder.
And then, the squash is lifted: proves itself real, being flawed and open under the waterline. I can see seeds in the cavity.
Steadily, back track, lift it higher on the bank, out of the flood plain into a bed of moss and dry leaf.