Notes on a marshland walk

For my joy this morning, I can’t do better than to relay some contemporaneous notes of our afternoon walk yesterday. Who knows, one day these notes may find their way into another poetic effort, perhaps less formal than the sonnet of my previous joy.

But for now I’ll go with the joy I have in hand, and wait for the two further birds to emerge from the poetics bush. Here’s our walk then:

big camera, notepad, pen, keys
locking the door
the road ahead, pavement and swinging gate
sudden shock!
fit yoga person overtakes, three dogs in tow
two deers bounce away through the marsh
spikey gorse with yellow flowers
chatting with dog walker; she strides off
red branches strewn
brook burbles along
gorse seed pods! dried and empty
moss-laden branches and beardy wisps 
flood detritus 
bare branches
hazel strands
curlicue seed pods of willow herb
quaking aspen spots
bearded sphagnum
stagnant water
broken tree
sunlight and shadow
blackberry leaves that are still green
spart grass reminds me of home
fresh rose leaves unfurling
curled lily pad leaves in brown water
ferns climbing amongst mossy trees
tripping over roots
empty truck bounces along a road far away
duck squawks
distant bird calls
white village on a sunlit hill
sunshine on the water mirror

dutchman’s breeches sky peeks through clouds
distant cow bellows
cold wind blows in our faces
freezing fingers, splodgy biro
last season’s angelica
a dropped pretzel and a rusty tin
empty whisky bottle
vole holes in the sloping bank
scrub trees encroaching on the holm
bursting willow buds
risers out of ancient limbs
shoe prints in the drying mud
upturned pipe beside the electric substation
cawing crows
arches of bramble
the leaning gate I pushed aside before
the water gate
murmuring water and cracking crows
stones to stumble over in the path
the bridge we hope to use, someday soon
a discarded Red Bull can
rhododendron congregation
the storm sewer sampling point
abandoned deflated green football
Raw Energy green and pink can
concrete path on to the road
last year’s buddleia flowers
fat balls disappearing
crocus blossom
a blast of warm air from our fire
cat stretched out in front

One response to “Notes on a marshland walk”

  1. Fiona Bernhoeft Avatar
    Fiona Bernhoeft

    What a lot of joys!
    All those stories too, imagined in the detritus of other people’s lives.
    I’m entranced by your ‘curlicue seed pods” and ‘dutchman’s breeches sky’!


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