We have made the longish walk from the car park
on the decking through the marsh marigolds.
Before us is a teeming shallow lagoon.
Beyond are mixed woods, pastoral farmland
and a white house on the ridge of what was
the coast of the estuary before
the river silted and the marsh grew.
Behind the hide is a railway embankment –
the thrum of the odd diesel from Neston
to Wrexham and back baffled by the noise
of the cacophonous colony
of black headed gulls nesting on a islet.