By Since late February it has barely rained.
The river is low. On the far bank
is an oak, scorched, blackened in last year’s storms.
Some way downstream birdsong seems louder,
the wind’s soughing through the leaves more intense.
Suddenly, between the trees, a wide, white path
of broken stones appears. The river has gone!
Somewhere, in this deceiving landscape,
in this bucolic dingle oceans made,
in this valley of lost industry,
dappled, silvery waters hurry,
like lightning, down limestone swallow holes
into the abundant dark.
Afon AlynLoggerheadsswallow holes
Ashen Venema
April 30, 2021Love the images, and the last one sings and echoes…
‘dappled, silvery waters hurry,
like lightning, down limestone swallow holes
into the abundant dark.’
Ferne Braudel
April 30, 2021Formidable et atmosphèrique! Peut-être, c’était la vengeance de ‘Manon des Sources’?
Clive Watkins
May 14, 2021The conclusion is strong, David:
Somewhere, in this deceiving landscape,
in this bucolic dingle oceans made,
in this valley of lost industry,
dappled, silvery waters hurry,
like lightning, down limestone swallow holes
into the abundant dark.
‘Abundant’ – from ab + undare: to flow in waves – is a particularly nice touch.