Test Drive.pdf (52.0 KB)
‘Water Reflections’
Pouring down relentlessly, incessantly, swiftly, forging your own path through rocks, old as the earth itself.
Torrents surge, bursting, breaking, breathless.
Plummeting, cascading curtains of white liquid,
you boil like Cafe latte and Mocha froth. Bubbling, swirling,
Then rushing once again, fast-flowing, you are an endless journey.
Suddenly, a brief stillness, a pool of chilled fluid filled with life.
Perch, Trout and Salmon swish through your currents
under the surfaces of iridescent glass.
Bright sunbeams bounce with dancing light on shimmering reflections.
But beware your sudden darkness, your deep mystery.
Motion slows awhile in your pools, then jacuzzis and whirlpools swirl.
Moss and lichen cling like green toupees on skull-shaped rocks.
Ferns, iris, and bullrush decorate your banks, reflected in your mirrored wash.
We beware your slabs of treacherous slime, sharp rocks worn to bluntness, blunt boulders honed to sharpness.
Overhanging branches absorb droplets of moisture.
Weeping willows desire your cool caress.
Golden leaves float down to your cold embrace, enticing them to oblivion.
Dippers bob solemnly on rocks, wagtails whirr over currents,
Kingfishers dive and flycatchers snack in the air.
Dragon, Damsel and May-fly perform without nets,
like acrobats on a suicide mission.
Otter, vole and rat dwell in your precarious walls;
Frogspawn float in your occasional calm.
You bring food for the wild, food for thought, and we contemplate,
Gazing down, drawn into Nature’s rhythms. Bridges span you,
Where children play Pooh-sticks that race on your current.
Tumbling, roiling, surging, and spilling over rocks, down cliffs, forever downwards.
Timeless tenacity, persevering, eroding obstacles, going round, over and under;
Forging channels through hundreds of years, nothing stops you.
Opening up to a wide expanse, a broad wet cloth of green,
blue or grey, sometimes silver, reflecting the reds and golds of the sun.
Zephyrs stir your mirrored surface, as ripples spill out behind the white sails of a Swan. Swallows and Martins dive for a sip to quench their thirst.
You’re a place to picnic by. Children splash and squeal with delight.
Numbing cold envelops feet and legs.
Carpets of smooth pebbles avoid our invasive tread.
The land levels, slowing you down, meandering through woods and glades.
Your force is contained for a while, but your flow is ceaseless.
At last, your flow is drawn inexorably to your source,
you shout for joy, you leap, laughing, gurgling and roaring.
You smell ozone, that smell of the sea; that scent of the end and of the beginning. Merging your freshness with saline Sauterne, at last, your journey’s consummation.