The barges grumble as they glide up and down the river.
Sometimes they carry things. Sometimes they are empty.
The river is like their road or rail, only it moves. The flow may help or hinder their work.
I watch the traffic from my perch on the hill. Standing still as they pass, but feeling the same wind.
FLOW
floweralley 
I have a lot of affection for barges. They’re like good work horses: not so attractive, maybe, but absolutely necessary.
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My part of the river has been busy.
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