The slow river runs down the landscape wandering down the long river bed,Sometimes a fast current drags the weaker part in, flowing down not knowing what\'s ahead. The sturdy roots of the old trees dance around in the under currents; The fish hiding for protection not building up its courage. The water cycle that always happens rain, floods and droughts, it never is just a river flowing down; a safe home for the trouts.But what happens if one day the stream stops? What happens when the little boat, that takes you to the other side, rocks and you fall in with the deep dark weeds and swim with the fishes as so to speak. That slow secure river is now John George Haigh, but instead of that burning feeling your flesh is bathed in cooling water. The roots around your ankles keep you from running down ahead to the dam. The trout bite away at your fingernails keeping them maintained, and soon you\'ll become just a single drop of rain.