Welling up from nowhere, fluid freshness
Snaking its way through the grass
Squelching underfoot and seeping
Through the stitching of my boots.
Clear, sweet liquid; fountain of life
Forming rivulets between the tussocks
And carrying tiny particles as it flows
Always downward; mind of its own.
Whispering, chattering, bubbling
With life, love, laughter
Skipping over pebbles and
Forcing crevices anew.
Water; slaking thirsts of plants
And animals alike: little rivers
Of refreshment joined by others
And swelling the ranks as it flows.
Widening, the trickle grows
Splashing over boulders and hiding
Fish within its eddies. Under-currents.
Swirling and twirling with coolness.
And suddenly down the steep slope
Falling a sweet cascade of sparkling light
And sound of rushing gurgles
Crashing down a precipice of stone.
And ever onwards always flowing along
The lowest path; rushing from mountain
To valley and slowing to sluggishness
As it meanders to the sea.
Water more precious than gold
Life saver of all; transparent and clear
Yet combining every colour of the rainbow
Promise of life from heaven to earth.
Words and photo copyright Englepip ©
via Daily Prompt: Rivulet
The pond that once held frogs and water boatmen
Swimming intermittently between the fronds of weed
Allowed dragonflies to dip; hawk-like hunters across the surface
And was the habitat for newts, their long-tails trailing as they swam,
Is now frigid; solid with ice that doesn’t even crack
Beneath the force of a snowball.
Nothing splashes in the deep, dark depths
No heron stands at the edge statuesque and still
Seeking the slightest movement to spear with its beak.
Instead there is a still, glassiness reflecting the blue winter sky
The deer cannot drink; and the ducks can only skate across the surface
For the sub-zero, arctic winds have brought the beast from the east
And we must abide the glacial freeze as bleak winter bites.
Photo and poem copyright Englepip©
via Daily Prompt: Frigid
We drew up the boats at the water’s edge as the sun plummeted towards the horizon. Just in time for a campfire; and facing west, a chance to watch the setting sun turn the whole of the western reaches burnt orange and golden. Drink in hand, we watched in awe as darkness descended and a chill grew across the water. Listening intently as the noises of the day dropped one by one, the intensity of the night-time sounds grew greater; grunts and barks of wildlife echoed and there was the occasional screeching of a female tawny owl. And then we heard it, the plop and plunge of paddles slicing the calm waters as two canoes swished past, rippling through the water in the dying light; making their way homeward, secretively, cloaked of darkness.
Photo copyright Englepip ©
via Daily Prompt: Cloaked