Has pinned its mirror to the meadow
And lies wide open to the sun’s attack,
Dazzlebombs exploding from its shield.
Water is an occupying force,
Invading neighbouring fields. It came up quick,
As always after heavy rain, and we
Awoke to find the alder trees waist-deep
In surplus river. In the aftermath we see
How it has redefined its living-space,
Redecorated, carved new coves and harbours,
Low secluded beaches of smooth silt –
Always some project on the go, some mini-
Masterpiece of bold landscape design
(Lately it’s been creeping slyly round
The back of this old willow – to begin
The island it will finish years later.)
The long walls of its winding gallery
Are covered in Baroque creations: mud
And timber – the sculpted body parts of trees.
Gathering flood-wood for the fire, I feel
Like an art-thief. But the river will forgive
This small transgression – summer will restore
Its equanimity, its little song
(A naiad nestling in the shell of my ear.)
© Anthony Watts