River Wye Weekend

You came in a beat up old blue Landie with tales of sleeping giants on your lips. It was your first night in the cottage when the Wye was skipping over stones, dividing the spiked water milfoil with sacred Pumlumon Fawr sunk into the sunset. We watched a heron draggle in and out of the water crowfoot beds, trusted we’d see muntjac or wild boar tomorrow. Look, there’s a kingfisher, jewelled above the otter’s holt and later a dipper, teeter-totter, near the yellow-cress. Watching frogs collared by ripples we wish for a grass snake or polecat. Skipping past horse-tail and great willowherb you trace the sand martins with your miniature fingertips while I collect peppery chives from the bedrock and turn my once carefree soul to my stomach. from 'Scratching The Surface' 2019 https://amzn.to/32GSMGl