We're currently on holiday and the stream in the poem is in one of my favourite places: The Trough of Bowland, a jewel hidden within the wider Forest of Bowland area of natural beauty.
In fact, the area containing the stream is only a part of the Trough itself, although the whole area is stunning.
When I say depression is contextual you need look no further than the line "No stress, no signal." There is indeed no mobile phone signal, that requires at least a five minute drive in either direction.
At any other time there would be no stress, however, the poem was written whilst waiting for a breakdown truck to look at an issue with the brakes on our car - we had developed a nasty rasping, screeching sound prompting us to seek assistance.
So, how do you call for help in the middle of nowhere with no signal and you can't drive out? Surely that's about as stressful as it gets!
Fortunately, we had some friends with us who could assist with the five minute drive but it was still the type of noise that sounds expensive, potentially causing us to cut the holiday short.
Yet, despite all this, the area by the stream is one of the most calming, relaxing places I know - along with an area in Olden, Norway, next to the Oldeelva river.
Water seems to be a major factor.
If we had been stuck almost anywhere else I can imagine sinking into a trough of despair, all sorts of feelings bubbling to the surface, none of them good. Instead, the Trough just sucks the stress out of you.
Even with all that was happening, those ninety minutes were a blessing.